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AMY  WILSON  CARMICHAEL 


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Overweights  of  Joy 


BY     , 

AMY   WILSON-CARMICHAEL 

Keswick  Missionary  C.E.Z.M.S. 

AUTHOR  OF   "things   AS   THEY  ARE,"   "  THE   BEGINNING   OF   A  STORY,"   ETC. 


WITH   PREFACE   BY 

Rev.  T.  walker 

C.M.S.  South  India 


HE   MUST   REIGN 


FLEMING    H.   REVELL    COMPANY 
NEW  YORK  CHICAGO 


Copyright  by  Morgan  &  Scott  Ld.,  London,  England 


To 

Indraneela's  Atah 


dohnavur 

tinnevelly  district 
South  India 


October  iqob 


Preface 


I  HAVE  been  frequently  asked  by  readers  of  Miss 
Wilson- Carmicliaers  former  book,  Things  as  They 
Are,  and  sometimes  with  considerable  incredulity, 
"  But  is  it  really  true  ?  " 

I  take  this  opportunity  of  saying,  once  for  all,  that, 
80  far  as  my  experience  goes,  after  twenty  years  of 
Missionary  work  in  Southern  India,  I  can  endorse  it  as 
quite  true.  An  Indian  civilian,  whose  duties  lie  in  that 
part  of  this  great  continent  with  which  the  book  specially 
deals,  expressed  to  us  his  surprise  that  anyone  should  be 
startled  by  what  they  call  its  "  sad  revelations  "  ;  for,  as 
he  said,  "  they  are  commonplaces  to  many  of  us  out  here." 
Possibly  he  had  seen  things  "  under  the  surface,"  which 
do  not  lie  patent  to  the  view  of  all,  whether  missionaries 
or  civilians.  However  that  may  be,  I  repeat  my  personal 
testimony  that  Miss  Carmichael  has  accurately  described 
"  things  as  they  are,"  writing  from  a  special  standpoint. 

It  is  true,  absolutely  true,  that  indifference  to  the  glad 
tidings  of  the  Gospel  is  the  order  of  the  day  among  the 
multitude  of  non- Christians  who  surround  us  here.  As 
Dr.  Miller  put  it  so  well  at  the  Keswick  Convention  of 
1903,  speaking  of  the  people  of  Hausaland,  "Make  no 
mistake.  They  do  not  want  the  Gospel ;  but  they  sorely 
need  the  Gospel." 


viii  Preface 

It  is  true  again,  absolutely  true,  that  untold  cruelties 
abound  in  heathendom.  While  we  missionaries  gladly 
recognise  the  good  qualities  of  many  of  our  Hindu  friends, 
and  love  the  people  among  whom  we  work,  we  should 
yet  be  criminally  blind  if  we  shut  our  eyes  to  ugly  facts. 
The  tyranny  of  caste  leads  to  evils  which  are  beyond 
words  to  tell.  Why  should  the  supporters  of  Foreign 
Missions,  who  quote  and  requote  the  text  on  Missionary 
platforms  at  home,  "  All  the  earth  is  full  of  darkness  and 
cruel  habitations,"  be  startled  and  shocked  when  they  are 
plied  with  facts,  hot  from  actual  experience,  which  after 
all  are  only  concrete  illustrations  of  the  platform  text  ? 

It  is  true  also,  absolutely  true,  that  here,  in  Southern 
India,  we  are  "  skirting  the  abyss,"  an  abyss  which  is 
deep  and  foul  beyond  description,  and  yet  is  glorified,  to 
Hindu  eyes,  by  the  sanctions  of  religion.  Growing 
knowledge  and  accumulating  information  are  only  serving 
to  make  the  awful  darkness  of  that  fell  abyss  more  and 
more  visible  to  view. 

Once  more,  it  is  true,  absolutely  true,  that  the  fight  is 
an  uphill  one.  With  all  my  might  would  I  emphasise 
this  fact.  India  has  not  yet  been  won.  Thank  God  for 
what  has  been  done ;  and  Miss  Carmichael  was  not 
ignorant  of  it  when  she  wrote  her  book,  as  -will  be  clear 
to  anyone  who  reads  between  the  lines.  But  let  there 
be  no  doubt  about  it ;  the  upper  ranks  of  Hindu  society 
show  a  practically  unbroken  front.  The  Shah  Najafs 
are  not  yet  taken.  The  citadels  of  Hinduism  and 
Mohammedanism  frown  down  haughtily  on  our  feeble 
and  desultory  attacks.  What  then  ?  Have  we  no 
soldier-spirit  in, us?  Shall  we  say,  like  some  of  Nehe- 
miah's  builders  when  difficulties  loomed  ahead,  "The 
strength  of  the  bearer  of  burdens  is  decayed,  and  there 
is  much  rubbish,  so  that  we  are  not  able  to  build  the 


Preface  ix 

wall "  ?  Or  shall  we  not  rather  say,  with  grand  old 
Nehemiah  himself,  whose  courage  only  rose  with  danger, 
"Be  not  afraid  of  them  ;  remember  the  Lord  which  is 
great  and  terrible,  and  fight  "  ? 

When  the  "  Black  Week  "  in  South  Africa  seemed  to 
bring  disaster  on  disaster  to  British  arms,  it  only  served 
to  stimulate  the  courage  of  our  people,  and  to  nerve 
them  for  the  fight.  The  whole  Empire  rose,  as  one  man, 
in  the  strength  of  a  firm  determination,  "  This  thing 
must  be  carried  through."  So  be  it  with  the  Christian 
Church.  Because  the  odds  against  us  are  so  great,  and 
because  the  task  is  so  stupendous,  and  because  "  things  as 
they  are  "  seem  otherwise  than  we  had  hoped,  brothers  ! 
let  us  face  the  work  in  deadly  earnest ;  let  us  "  remember 
the  Lord  "  and  "  fights 

The  present  volume  is  a  sort  of  sequel  to  Things  as 
They  Are.  Let  me  say  of  this  book  also,  that  you  may 
rely  on  its  accuracy  ;  it  is  a  description  of  facts  ;  it  is 
certainly  true.  It  offers  to  sinking  spirits  something  of 
a  cordial  in  the  shape  of  Overweights  of  Joy.  But  it  is 
not  intended,  for  a  moment,  to  "  tone  down  "  the  facts  of 
its  predecessor.  It  would  not  be  true  if  it  did.  And 
Truth  (with  a  capital  "  T  ")  is  the  main  thing.  "We 
can  do  nothing  against  the  Truth,  but  for  the  Truth." 

T.  WALKER,  C.M.S. 


Contents 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  "  Before  the  gods  will  I  sing  "   .  .1 

II.  The  Fort         ......        5 

III.  He  maketh  the  Stars  .  .  .  .       14 

IV.  "  Lo  !  these  are  Parts  of  His  Ways  "     .            .21 
V.  "Yet" 26 

VI.  Opened  .  .  .  .  .  .34 

VII.  The  Clan 40 

VIII.  The  Clue 47 

IX.  The  Shah  Najaf        .  .  .  -;  .52 

X.  "  Follow  the  Gleam  "  .  .  .  .60 

XI.  "  The  Grace  of  the  People  to  come  "     .  .67 

XII.  Alone 78 

XIII,  "  No  Beauty  that  we  should  desire  Him  "        .      89 

XIV.  "  With  His  Stripes  we  are  healed  "        .  .98 
XV.  "  He  shall  see  of  the  Travail  of  His  Soul  "   .     104 

XVI.  "Not  Peace,  but  a  Sword"  .  .  .113 

XVII.  "  At  Variance  " 120 

XVIII.  "  All  these  Things  "  .  .  .  .132 

XIX.  Gardens  by  the  River's  Side         .  .  .     146 

XX.  A  Singing  Bird  in  God's  Garden  .  .  .     154 

XXI.  Dry  Land 162 

XXII.  "  Let  it  Bring  forth  tender  Grass  "       .  .169 


Xll 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

XXIII.  "  And  it  was  so  " 

XXIV.  "  Hold  me  on  with  a  steady  Pace  " 
XXV.  Darkened  Windows 

XXVI.  Geaves  ^VHICH  appear  not 

XXVII.  "  Dagon  must  Stoop  " 
XXVIII.  The  Spaces  Between 

XXIX.  Mosaic 
XXX.  Background 

XXXI.  Warped  Land 

XXXII.  The  Children's  Hour 
XXXIII.  Green  Clouds  and  the  Lamps  of  God's  Village 
XXXIV.  Loosed 

XXXV.  Persist 
XXXVI.  The  Song  of  the  Lord    . 


PAGE 

174 
183 
191 
200 
212 
220 
230 
241 
250 
260 
268 
279 
285 
291 


Illustrations 


Two  Little  Overweights  of  Joy   .            .            .  FrorUiapiece 
Rock  below  Tigee's  Cave  on  the  Ghaut  Road 

LEADING  UP  FROM  THE  PLAINS    .            .            .  Facing  p.  5 

"  Liberty  of  Conscience  ?  Christians  at  Home  ?  "      ,,  15 

Star's  Little  Cousin  .            .            .            .            .  „  17 
In  the  Shah  Najaf  : 

Type  No.  1.  The  Brahman      .            .  „  53 

2.  Workers  in  Gold           .  „  55 

3.  Workers  in  Iron           .  „  57 

4.  Workers  in  Wood         .  ,,  58 

A  Drop  from  the  Sea;  A  Grain  from  the  Heap  „  75 

Nblbetta  (the  Split  Rock),  Neduvatan    .            .  „  78 

Showing  the    plateau  and  the  plains   4000  feet 
below. 

"  Their  inscrutable  Faces  told  me  Nothing  "    .  „  80 

Mountain  Boundary  between  British  India  and 

Travancore           .            .           .           .            .  „  113 

The  double-peaked  shadow  is  cast  by  Makurti, 


from  which  mountain  the  photo  was  taken. 

Lotus    .       ,     . 

121 

Brilliance        ..... 

123 

Lotus'  Aunt  and  Little  Cousin      . 

124 

Lotus'  Student  Cousin 

130 

Taken  in  our  Compound 

134 

XIV 


Illustrations 


The  Temple  Musician 

One     of     the     Orthodox    Relations      of     the 
Brahman  Widow  ..... 

Ox  THE  Verandah       ..... 

The  Falls  of  Darkness,  near  Sesspara    . 
Lamb's  Rock    .  ..... 

In  the  middle  distance  is  the  Droog  ti-oin 
whose  summit  Tiboo  Sahib  is  8aid  to  have 
hurled  his  prisoners  down  the  preeipioe. 

Types    .  ...... 

Typical  Young  Wife  ..... 

Eagle   Cliff  :     showing   the   Plains   on   the 
Eastern  Side       ..... 

Itinerating  Work  on  the  Physical  Side 

Sesspara  Top  .  ..... 

When  last  we  went  to  Sesspara  the  valley 
and  all  the  surrounding  hills  were  completely 
covered  by  sunlit  mist.  We  stood  as  it  were 
on  the  edge  of  the  world  and  looked  over. 
There  was  nothing  anywhere  to  be  seen  but  a 
shining  dream  of  white. 

Lav ANA  .... 

PrEENA  AND   Lav ANA    . 

Firefly  and  another  Child 
How  WE  Cradle  our  Babies. 

RtfKMA   AND   PrEEYA      . 

Lola  and  Leela 

Sunset  on  the  Foothills  :  from  Makurti  Peak 


Facing  p.   136 

140 
142 
146 
183 


185 
187 

221 
230 
241 


253 
254 
256 
258 
261 
265 
291 


**I  have  more  than  an 
Overweight  of  Joy  " 


II  Cor.  vii.  4 
Conyheare  and  Hcwsons  Translation 


The  Photographs 


THE  photos  of  village  and  town's  folk,  usually  typical  of 
life  and  character  on  the  plains,  were  taken  by  the 
comrade  known  as  "  The  Picture-catching  Missie  Ammal." 
Those  of  our  little  children  were  given  by  another  friend. 
Those  of  the  mountains  are  the  work  of  an  expert  in  capturing 
the  spirit  of  the  wilds.  Several  of  the  photographs  are  rare, 
notably  the  one  which  shows  the  curious  double-peaked 
shadow  of  the  mountain  from  which  the  photo  was  taken. 
These  mountains,  the  thousand  mile  range  of  the  Western 
Ghauts,  whether  South  by  our  homeside  at  Dohnavur,  or  four 
hundred  miles  North  where  great  arms  branch  off  and  form 
the  Nilgiri  (Blue  Mountain)  group,  at  all  times,  in  all  moods, 
are  strength  and  inspiration  to  us,  veritable  Overweights  of 
Joy.  It  would  be  ungrateful  not  to  share  what  can  be  shared 
of  them  with  you.  But  thoroughly  to  enjoy  a  scenery  photo 
imagine  yourself  and  your  camera  camping  out  on  the 
mountains.  Fill  the  forests  with  life,  the  clouds  with  move- 
ment. Flood  all  the  wide  spaces  with  Hght  and  with  colour. 
Then  let  the  wind  blow  over  the  uplands,  and  stir  the  grasses 
and  the  little  mountain  flowers  at  your  feet. 


OYEEWEIGHTS  OF  JOY 


CHAPTER   I 
*^ Before  the  gods  v/ill  I  sing'* 

THE  main  purpose  of  this  book  is  single  and  simple. 
It  is  to  let  the  song  out  before  the  gods  in  pos- 
session here.  A  sentence  spoken  in  the  Keswick 
Convention  some  years  ago  suggested  the  thought. 
The  sentence,  as  it  reached  us  in  South  India,  ran 
thus  : 

"  I  will  praise  Thee  with  my  whole  heart ;  before  the 
gods  will  I  sing  praise  unto  Thee  " — ^liis  (the  Psalmist's) 
glad  resolve  to  sing  praises  unto  his  God,  not  in  a  clear 
and  open  atmosphere,  but  before  the  gods,  the  giant 
powers  which  lay  behind  the  giant  heathenism  of  his 
day.  He,  as  it  were,  looked  them  in  the  face,  and 
weighed  their  strength  and  force ;  and  although  they 
seemed  to  suggest  the  hopelessness  of  the  cause  of  God, 
he  was  not  moved.  "  Before  the  gods  will  I  sing  praise 
unto  Thee." 

If  this  book's  atmosphere  is  dark  it  is  because   the 


2  "  Before  the  gods  will  I  sing  " 

gods,  the  giant  powers  which  He  behind  the  subtle 
systems  of  our  day,  still  exist  in  strength  and  force. 
The  song  is  sung  in  the  night :  let  no  one  dream  the 
night  has  passed. 

Here  and  there  through  the  valley  of  Christendom  in 
India  there  has  been  a  noise  and  a  shaking,  and  a 
Coming  of  the  Breath.  We  have  seen  and  heard 
something  which  in  its  mystery  and  spontaneity  passes 
anything  we  knew  before.  But  we  have  not  seen  India 
stirred.  No  movement  in  the  valley  has  as  yet  affected 
those  wastes  of  desolation  that  rise  like  mountains  bare 
and  bleak  and  utterly  lifeless  around  us.  "  Bow  Thy 
heavens,  0  Lord,  and  come  down  :  touch  the  mountains 
and  they  shall  smoke  "—we  have  not  seen  that  yet. 
We  are  waiting  to  see  such  a  manifestation  of  Divine 
energy  as  shall  convince  the  Hindu  and  Mohammedan 
world  that  the  Lord  is  God.  And  now  in  the  moment 
of  pause  before  the  coming  of  the  Power,  now  while  we 
wait,  we  sing. 

The  book  is  meant  mainly  for  those  who  read  Things 
as  They  Are,  and  were  discouraged  by  it.  We  know 
there  were  some  who  in  reading  it  did  not  catch  the 
under-song  that  sang  through  the  bitter  battle.  The 
Tamil  words  on  the  cover,  "  Victory  to  Jesus,"  were  not 
interpreted.  They  put  the  book  down  in  despair — 
"  if  these  things  are  so,  is  prayer  answered  at  all  ? 
Is  it  worth  while  going  on  ?  "  "  Nay,  do  not  wrong 
Him  by  thy  heavy  thought,"  let  Overweights  answer 
earnestly.  Prayer  is  being  answered.  It  is  worth  while 
going  on. 

But  though  we  would  praise  Him  with  our  song,  His 


A  Foreword  3 

Word  alone  is  the  cause  of  our  sure  confidence.  The 
song  may  brighten  the  day's  work,  and  lighten  the  very 
night,  but  nothing  short  of  the  Word  of  the  Lord  stands 
strong  through  everything.  This  battle  is  His.  The 
victory  was  won  on  the  Resurrection  morning.  Christ 
our  King  is  King  of  the  ages.  Although  we  could  not 
sing  we  would  still  go  on. 

The  "  we "  of  the  book  refers  usually  to  our  small 
band  here,  Rev.  T.  Walker,  Mrs.  Walker,  and  our  Indian 
comrades,  who  on  the  women's  side  are  the  faithful 
'Grolden,  Pearl,  and  Blessing,  and,  of  late  years,  Star,  Joy, 
Gladness,^  and  others,  without  whose  loyal  co-operation 
the  work  that  has  grown  among  the  Temple -children 
would  have  been  impossible.  But  though  for  the  sake 
of  straightforward  story-telling  I  explain  the  personnel, 
there  is  nothing  we  should  so  deprecate  as  the  focusing 
of  attention  upon  us.  Rather  overlook  us,  and  look 
wherever  in  all  the  field  you  have  a  friend  who  would 
welcome  the  cheer  of  a  freshened  affection,  and  the 
sympathy  which  braces  because  it  understands. 

Perhaps  in  order  to  avoid  needless  misunderstanding 
it  should  be  said  at  the  outset  that  we  write  from  Old 
India,  and  that  we  do  not  profess  to  touch  upon  aspects 
and  problems  affecting  New  India  and  India  in  transition, 
matters  so  dehcate  and  intricate  that  they  are  better  left 
to  abler  pens.  Each  phase  of  Hfe  as  we  find  it  here  is 
a  study  in  itself.  Each  is  intensely  interesting.  But 
the  voice  that  speaks  through  these  pages,  if  indeed  we 
have  caught  it  clearly  enough  to  make  it  articulate  to 
others,  is  the  voice   of  the  old  land  :    for  of  the  three 

1  Translated  names. 


4  "Before  the  gods  will  I  sing" 

distinct  voices  sounding  in  India  to-day,  we  have  heard 
it  longest  and  know  it  best. 

Finally,  we  have  tried  to  be  true.  We  cannot  say 
more.  Those  who  have  tried  to  be  true  know  how 
difficult  truth-telling  is,  perhaps  because  we  see  so  little 
of  the  whole  truth  at  a  time.  We  found  a  large  shell 
on  the  shore  one  day,  blackened  at  the  edges,  iridescent 
above.  It  lay  where  the  wave  had  washed  it,  wet  and 
shining  on  the  sand.  The  south-west  monsoon  had 
brought  us  many  beautiful  things.  The  sand  was  strewn 
with  them.  But  this  special  shell  for  loveHness  lay  alone 
among  them,  and  we  stopped  before  we  picked  it  up  to 
look  at  it  in  its  setting  of  sand,  which  on  that  part  of 
the  coast  sparkles  as  if  garnet  dust  had  been  sprinkled 
over  it.  Then  we  saw  that  the  little  Crustacea  had 
stopped  to  look  at  it  too.  They  were  crawling  over  it 
and  into  it  and  all  about  it ;  but  they  did  not  see  it  as  a 
whole.  They  were  too  small.  Truth  is  like  that  shell. 
We  are  like  the  infant  crabs  and  beach  fleas.  Perhaps 
the  most  we  can  hope  to  do  is  to  tell  the  changeful 
colours  of  the  httle  bit  of  the  shell  we  see,  avoiding 
over-colouring  as  we  would  avoid  a  lie.  And  we  can 
resist  the  temptation  to  omit  all  mention  of  the  broken, 
blackened  edges  of  the  shell. 


CHAPTER   II 
The  Fort 

IT  was  early  afternoon  on  the  edge  of  a  South  Indian 
town,  at  the  place  where  it  touches  the  desert.  It 
was  hot,  but  those  happy  httle  sun-birds,  the 
children,  darted  about  in  the  sunshine,  or  played  in  the 
doubtful  shadow  of  the  palms  which  border  the  Brahrnan 
street.  There  were  vivid  splashes  of  colour  where  the 
httle  children  played,  otherwise  the  street  was  colourless 
and  empty,  for  the  people  who  lend  it  hfe  were  out  of 
sight  in  the  close  dark  of  windowless  rooms,  trying  to 
feel  cool.  To  the  left  of  where  we  stood,  above  house- 
tops and  palms,  rose  the  central  Temple  tower,  carved 
in  stone  for  a  hundred  feet.  A  wall  faced  us,  crossing 
the  end  of  the  street. 

The  wall  was  of  clay,  clumsily  but  massively  built, 
rough  with  uneven  additions  and  patches,  the  work  of 
careless  generations.  It  was  bare  and  ugly,  and  covered, 
as  all  the  world  was  then,  with  the  dust  of  rainless 
months.  The  httle  flowers  and  grasses  that  had  struggled 
for  life  on  its  ridges,  in  the  last  wet  season,  had  been 
burnt  up  long  ago.  Only  their  famished  shreds  were 
left  to  tell  how  the  poor  wild  things  had  tried  to  decorate 
man's  prosaic.  But  green  trees  showed  above  it.  We 
wondered  what  was  inside. 


6  The  Fout 

A  door  was  set  deep  in  the  wall,  facing  the  Brahman 
street.     We     knocked,    but     no     answer     came.     Then 
friendly  voices  called  us  from  across  the  street,  and  we 
saw  that  friendly  faces  were  watching  us  from  verandah- 
shaded  doorways.     We  crossed  again,  sat  down  gratefully 
in  the  shadowy  recess  of  a  verandah,  and  questioned  our 
new  friends  about  the  place  behind  the  wall.     But  India, 
though  frank,   is  reticent.     The  door  at  which  we  had 
knocked  was  always  locked.     The  Fort  lay  behind  the 
wall.     This  was  all  they  cared  to  say.     So  we  talked  of 
other  things  for  awhile,   until  we   had   passed   the   first 
boundary-hne  fencing  us  off  from  their  confidence,  and 
they  told  us  part  of  what  they  knew,  the  pith  of  which 
lay  in  the  fact  that  there  were  people  in  the  Fort  whose 
ways  were  not  as  theirs,  and  therefore  most  uninteresting, 
unworthy  our  inquiry.     The  women,  they  told  us,  never 
came  outside.     Never  till  death  was  a  woman  seen  out. 
And  even  then  she  was  not  seen.     She  was  sewn  in  a 
sack  and  carried  out  by  a  gate  in  the  wall  on  the  other 
side.     Two  such  gates  lay  on  that  side.     By  one  dead 
women  were  carried  out,   and  by  the  other,   men.     No 
townsman  ever  went   into    the    Fort.     All    men    of    all 
castes  were  strictly  forbidden,  except  the  servants  of  the 
Fort  who  tilled  the  Fort  lands  outside.     There  was  no 
stringent  law  about  women  ;  but  no  woman  they  knew 
had  ever  gone  in.     "  May  we  go  in  ?  "  we  asked. 

The  question  came  as  a  sm*prise.  Every  face  was  a 
blank.  They  had  never  thought  of  going  in.  And  yet 
they  had  Hved  all  their  Hves  within  sound  of  a  laugh 
or  a  cry  from  the  walls.  The  East  and  the  West  meet 
often,    but    sometimes    they    walk    apart.     Perhaps    the 


Why  go  in  ?  7 

Eastern  way  is  the  more  dignified.  Why  should  we  pry 
into  what,  for  probably  excellent  reasons,  our  neighbour 
has  concealed  ? 

Something  a  little  less  fine,  may  be,  is  mixed  up  with 
this  sentiment ;  for  the  women's  remarks  hardly  suggested 
the  sublime.  "  Why  go  in  ?  There  is  nothing  to  see. 
The  people  are  not  like  us.  They  are  mere  animals  ; 
poor  jungle  creatures."  Then  after  a  pause  came  the 
hesitating  after-thought :  "  Once,  it  is  said,  a  white 
woman  went  in,  and  nothing  evil  befell  her  " — as  if  a 
thought  of  evil  had  ever  crossed  one's  mind  !  "  But  this 
is  foolish  talking  ;  you  would  be  as  a  parrot  watching 
the  silk  cotton  pod  [the  pod  ripens,  the  wind  blows  the 
light-winged  seed  away,  the  parrot  gets  nothing]  ;  for 
even  if  they  let  you  pass  the  wall,  you  might  wait  for  a 
lifetime  and  never  see  a  woman.  Each  lives  in  her  house 
with  the  door  fast  shut." 

There  is  a  curious  instinct  in  our  race,  which  always 
wants  to  explore  the  unknown,  and  finds  in  discourage- 
ment impetus.  This  moved  within  us  as  the  women 
talked.  "  It  is  hot,  so  hot,"  they  repeated  dissuadingly. 
"  Why  go  out  in  such  a  heat  ?  "     But  we  went. 

It  was  certainly  hot.  There  was  no  shade.  The 
wall  seemed  to  concentrate  heat,  and  throb  it  out  to  us. 
Below,  the  dust  struck  hot  through  one's  shoes.  Above, 
the  sky  overflowed  with  light,  a  clear  white  blaze  of  heat. 
There  is  a  beautiful  story  in  the  "  Ramayana  "  (one  of 
India's  epics)  which  tells  how  Rama,  Prince  of  Oudh, 
and  Lakshman,  his  noble  young  brother,  while  journeying 
with  their  spiritual  guide  through  forest  and  plain,  came 
to  an  arid  desert,  "  so  hot  that  the  tongue  would  scorch 


8  The  Fort 

if  it  tried  to  describe  it."  But  the  guide  tauglit  the  lads 
a  certain  charm,  and  as  they  chanted  it  the  fiery  ground 
changed  for  them  into  cool  water  springs.  We  thought 
of  this  old  tale  then.  We  have  a  Charm  by  which  life's 
glowing  sand  becomes  a  pool,  and  even  the  common  fiery 
ground  to  be  trodden  under  common  feet  is  cooled  by 
the  Charm  for  us.  So,  hardly  minding  about  the  heat, 
we  traced  the  wall  further,  and  came  to  a  door  fitted  with 
huge  locks  and  bars,  and  a  hinge  that  looked  centuries 
old.  The  door  was  open.  We  went  in.  A  white-washed 
wall  built  half-way  across  intercepted  the  view.  We  stood 
there  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  on,  passed  another 
wall,  mud-built  and  broken,  and  saw  fine  tamarind  trees 
shading  the  approach,  and  altars  guarding  it ;  beyond 
stood  picturesque  groups  of  red-roofed  houses,  and  great 
stacks  of  straw.  We  had  no  time  to  see  more ;  for 
before  we  reached  the  houses  an  old  man  met  us,  and 
leading  us  back  to  the  door,  asked  us  our  business. 

He  was  a  very  old  man.  From  his  ears  hung  long 
gold  rings.  His  dress  was  the  loin-cloth  and  scarf  of  the 
South.  His  manners  were  those  of  a  chief.  "  These 
tidings,"  he  said,  after  listening  a  little,  "  are  excellent 
for  those  outside,  the  ignorant  people  of  the  town.  But 
we  of  the  Fort  are  different.  We  require  nothing 
external.  Nor  do  we  desire  it,"  he  added,  "  so  kindly 
swiftly  retire." 

A  year  passed  before  we  had  an  opportunity  of 
attempting  the  Fort  again.  But  such  a  year  need  not 
be  wasted,  and  we  went  with  hope  renewed.  We  tried 
to  find  the  head  of  the  Clan,  to  win  his  consent  to  our 
visiting  it,  but  no  one  outside  could  direct  us  to  him  ; 


In  at  last  9 

so  believing  we  were  meant  to  go  in,  and  that  the 
way  would  be  otherwise  opened,  and  asking  that  the 
very  light  might  be  spread  as  a  covering  for  us  to 
veil  us  from  any  who  would  disapprove,  we  walked 
quietly  in. 

This  time  we  were  not  turned  back.     Unhindered  we 
wandered  through  silent  streets,  so  strangely  silent  that 
they  seemed  like  streets  in  a  city  of  the  dead.       The 
houses  were  solidly  built,  and  often  enclosed  in  courtyard 
walls.       Their  windows  were  few,   and  heavily  barred. 
We    stopped    before    one    notable    house,    three -storied, 
built  of  stone  and  brick,  coloured  buff,  terra-cotta,  and 
blue.     There  was  some  fine  wood-carving  in  the  lower 
verandah,  and  the  upper  balcony  was  decorated  with  a 
pineapple    device.       There    were    small    outhouses    near, 
and  a    deep  empty  well,   cut  in  a  regular  spiral.     But 
not  a  woman  or  a  child  was  visible  anywhere.     In  the 
distance  we  saw  men,  but  they  did  not  see  us.       The 
blaze  of  noontide  covered  us  as  with  a  shining  screen. 
We  walked  on  unaccosted,  down  a  short  street,  with  four 
small  quaint  houses  on  either  side,  all  shut  up.     They 
reminded  one  of  a  book  often  examined  in  childish  days, 
which  had  a  lock  and  key.     What  wonderful  things  must 
be  inside,  too  wonderful  for  everyday  reading,  and  so  it 
is  locked  up  we  thought,  never  imagining  then,  as  we 
handled  it  almost  reverently,  that  the  wonderful  things 
concerned  mere  money  matters.     But  here  there  was  a 
difference.     Wonderful   things   were   most   surely   inside. 
Only  the  old  house-book  was  locked,  and  the  key  hung 
out  of  reach.     We  sat  down  on  one  of  the  little  stone 
verandahs,  facing  an  iron-clamped  door.     No  one  saw  us, 


10  The  Fort 

for  no  windows  looked  out  on  the  street.     The  stilhiess 
was  oppressive.     Was  the  place  asleep  or  dead  ? 

At  last  the  door  opposite  opened.  A  woman  looked 
out.  She  was  just  going  to  slam  it,  dismayed,  when  a 
smile  reassured  her,  and  before  she  could  make  up  her 
mind  what  to  do,  we  were  on  the  other  side  of  the 
narrow  street,  persuading  her  to  let  us  sit  on  her 
verandah,  and  to  keep  her  door  open  six  inches,  and  let 
us  talk  to  her. 

She  was  a  pleasant-faced  motherly  woman,  this  pro- 
duct of  a  system  considered  exclusive  even  in  exclusive 
India.  She  had  the  peculiar  sweetness  and  grace  of  the 
typical  Indian  woman  of  gentle  birth.  There  was  the 
flash  of  quiet  humour  too.  She  was  very  human.  Had 
she  lost  anything  after  all  by  her  long  exclusiveness  ? 
Perhaps  her  life  had  included  life's  essentials  ;  she  had 
her  home.  We  talked  with  her,  and  after  her  first 
surprise  had  passed,  she  talked  with  us.  Then  we  knew 
what  she  had  lost. 

For  we  had  not  come  to  play  in  the  shallows,  to 
study  character  or  creed,  or  a  new  and  suggestive  prob- 
lem. We  had  come  to  speak  to  the  soul  in  the  name 
of  God  about  that  which  concerned  it  infinitely.  The 
first  thing,  then,  was  to  find  the  soul,  and  only  those 
who  have  talked  to  one  whose  mind  is  as  a  fast  closed 
outer  room,  know  how  much  may  hinder  the  finding  of  a 
way  into  the  far  more  fast  closed  inner  room  we  call  the 
soul. 

The  woman  listened  as  one  asleep.  The  message  we 
had  brought  was  something  so  remote  from  anything 
she  had  heard  before,  that  it  fell  on  her  ear  as  a  strange 


Further  in  11 

song  sung  to  a  bewildering  tune.  How  could  it  be 
otherwise  ?  The  "  murmur  of  the  world  "  outside  had 
never  reached  her.  Her  range  of  vision,  mental  as  well 
as  physical,  was  bounded  almost  absolutely  by  the  wall 
that  surrounded  her  house.  It  is  true  that  the  call  that 
wakens  often  comes  from  within,  but  oftener  surely  it 
comes  from  without.  This  woman's  world  knew  no 
without,  and  much  of  the  meaning  of  the  within  was 
hidden  from  her.  We  do  not  reahse  until  we  think 
about  it,  how  much  we  owe  to  the  largeness  of  our 
environment.     Think  of  the  littleness  of  her's. 

But  even  the  narrowest  Indian  horizon  is  usually  widened 
by  something  of  the  culture  of  the  past.  The  nation  has 
its  mythical  history  handed  down  in  poetry,  sung  rather, 
through  the  ages,  the  young  voice  catching  up  the  song 
where  the  old  fails.  I  hstened  to  our  sweeper  woman 
the  other  day,  as  she  crooned  a  lullaby.  It  was  the 
story  of  Rama  and  his  queen  that  she  sang  to  the  baby — 
a  beautiful  old-world  tale.  But  that  mud  wall  seemed 
to  have  shut  out  even  the  song.  A  reference  to  one  of 
its  illustrations,  which,  had  this  woman  known  it,  would 
have  lighted  one  of  the  words  we  were  using,  did  not 
surprise  her  into  the  accustomed  sign  of  recognition. 
There  was  the  less  to  go  upon,  the  fewer  stepping-stones 
by  which  we  might  hope  to  pass  from  the  known  to  the 
unknown  in  her  experience.  We  found  she  knew  almost 
nothing  of  her  own  religion.  A  South  Indian  wife  and 
mother  rarely  feels  her  need  of  God.  It  is  the  childless 
wife,  and  the  widow,  who  turn  to  something  outside  them- 
selves, and  seek  by  fastings  and  penance  to  propitiate 
that  Something,  or  elude  it,  or  persuade  it,  so  to  speak. 


12  The  Fort 

to  look  elsewhere.  This  woman  was  happy.  Husband, 
children,  plenty  of  jewels,  she  had  all  these  ;  what  more 
did  she  want  ? 

Naturally,  as  always  in  such  cases,  we  kept  to  the  ele- 
mentary.    We  told  her  that  God  loved  her,  and  would  save 
her  from  her  sin.     But  God  meant  Siva  to  her,  so  that 
word  needed  much  explanation.       Love  was  a  word  she 
more  perfectly  understood.     How  glad  we  are  to  have  that 
one  word  which  belongs  to  the  universal  language.     Sin 
meant  ceremonial  defilement,  such  as  would  be  incurred 
by  touching  us,  or  eating  food  other  than  that  prescribed 
by  her  caste.     This  word  kept  us  a  long  time.     Salvation 
meant  temporal  help.     The  thought  had  to  be  opened 
out   before   even   a   glimmer   of   its   true   meaning  could 
dawn  upon  her.       This  development  of  idea  took  time. 
"  Go  and  tell  them  God  loves  them  "  sounds  beautiful 
and  easy.     It  is  beautiful,  indeed  ;  but  so  to  do  it  that 
it  shall  be  effective  is  not  easy.     The  words  may  seem 
to  be  understood,  and  smiles  and  appreciative  gestures 
often   delude   us   into   imxagining    the    truth   behind   the 
words  is  being  apprehended  ;  whereas  very  probably  each 
of    the    pivot    words    upon    which    our    message    turns 
conveys  a  wholly  defective  or,  at  least,  inadequate  idea, 
and  the  truth  that  would  mean  eternal  life  is  not  even 
within   grasp.     Praise    God   for   the   illuminating    power 
of   His  Spirit,   without  whom  our   words   were    as    idle 
tales.     But  if  we  would  be  accurate  in  thought  we  must 
abandon  the  idea,  so  hard  to  abandon,  that  instantaneous 
spiritual  receptivity  is  something  often  seen.     It  is  seen 
sometimes,   and  the  day  that  shows  it  is  marked  by  a 
crown  in  memory,  and  an  Overweight  of  Joy.     Such  days 


Turned  out  13 

are  rare.  Most  days  are  commonplace,  uncrowned  by 
any  sucli  discovery.  But  every  sunrise  shines  with  hope. 
We  may  find  that  soul  to-day. 

For  nearly  an  hour  we  sat  by  that  woman,  gradually 
drawing  nearer  to  her  in  the  contact  that  comes  with 
sympathy.  And  her  dark  eyes  looked  deep  into  ours, 
and  stirred  our  hearts  with  strong  desire  that  she  should 
miderstand.  Before  we  could  be  sure  she  did,  the  kindly 
covering  was  removed.  Some  men  saw  us,  and  hurried 
us  out  of  the  Fort. 

And  after  we  had  gone  away  that  woman's  face  came 
back  to  us  with  its  dark,  deep-gazing  eyes.  I  felt  as  if  I 
had  seen  it  before,  though  I  knew  it  could  not  have  been  so, 
for  no  Fort  woman  walks  outside.  But  often,  during  the 
years  that  passed  before  we  could  enter  the  Fort  again,  I 
seemed  to  see  that  same  face  pass,  and  to  hear  a  tone 
in  another  voice  so  like  hers  that  it  startled  me,  and 
haunted  me  Uke  a  haunting  tune.  But  life  is  full  of  the 
definite.  And  the  strange  intangible  influences  that, 
shadow-like,  cross  and  recross  it  at  times  fall  for  the  most 
part  unheeded. 


OHAPTEE   III 
He  maketh  the  Stars 

THE  year  of  our  first  attempt  upon  the  Fort  was  a 
year  of  organised  opposition  from  the  Hindus  in 
our  neighbourhood.  They  had  been  exceedingly 
friendly ;  but  they  had  been  alarmed  by  seeing  several 
of  their  young  people  beginning  to  take  an  interest  in 
Christianity,  and  while  they  were  debating  about  what 
to  do,  one  of  these  inquirers  became  a  convert. 

This  clinched  matters.  The  order  went  forth  that 
every  caste  town  and  village  within  a  working  distance  of 
our  home  was  to  be  closed  to  us.  Then  all  the  district 
round  became  like  a  rock  at  low  tide  studded  with 
limpet  shells.  Limpetwise,  each  little  coterie  resented 
the  lightest  touch  on  its  shell,  and  showed  its  feelings 
by  fastening  the  firmer  to  the  rock.  Those  were  the  days 
when  our  appearance  in  the  most  offended  villages 
brought  handfuls  of  dust  thrown  from  behind  walls  full 
in  our  faces.  We  did  not  mind  the  dust,  but  we  did 
mind  being  shut  out  of  the  people's  hearts.  And  yet  we 
could  not  wonder  at  them.  From  their  point  of  view  it 
was  the  only  thing  to  do. 

Mr.  Meredith  Townsend's  book,  Asia  and  Europe,  con- 
tains a  careful  study  of  Indian  character.     Attention  is 


"Liberty  of  cuusuienee?    Christians  at  home?    There  is  absolutely  nothing  we  would 
not  do  to  prevent  such  a  thing  occurring."     A  kinsman  of  the  speaker. 


The  Caste  Cabal  15 

drawn  to  the  singular  tenacity  of  will  which,  coexistent 
as  it  is  with  a  surface  flexibility,  so  often  perplexes  the 
observer.  "  The  will  of  an  Asiatic,  once  fairly  roused, 
closes  on  its  purpose  with  a  grip  to  which  nothing  in  the 
mind  of  a  European  can  compare,  a  grip  which  seems 
too  strong  for  the  conscience,  the  judgment,  and  even 
.the  heart.  The  man  is  like  one  possessed,  and  cannot, 
even  if  he  would,  change  his  self-appointed  course." 

Shortly  after  the  stir  caused  by  a  break  in  the  serried 
ranks  of  caste,  a  young  Brahman  barrister  whose  interest 
in  books  had  brought  us  into  touch  with  him,  remonstrated 
on  our  iniquity  in  receiving  converts  whose  caste  had  for- 
bidden them  to  have  dealings  with  us.  No  one  feels  the 
misery  of  this  necessity  more  keenly  than  the  Missionary, 
and,  longing  that  its  cause  should  cease,  we  besought  him 
to  use  his  influence  towards  winning  liberty  of  conscience 
for  his  people.  "  Why  should  they  not  be  Christians  at 
home  ?  "  we  urged,  fired  with  a  sudden  hope  that  this 
well-educated  man  who  quoted  the  English  poets  in 
every  second  sentence,  this  platform  orator,  newspaper 
writer,  social  reformer,  would  come  to  the  rescue,  and  in 
his  home  at  least  do  something  persuasive  and  brave. 
He  looked  at  us  fixedly  for  a  moment,  and  something 
looked  out  from  his  eyes,  and  then  with  a  concentration 
of  scorn  we  shall  never  forget,  he  spoke  the  truth  to  us, 
"  Liberty  of  conscience  ?  Christians  at  home  ?  There 
is  absolutely  nothing  we  would  not  do  to  prevent  such  a 
thing  occurring."     The  will  had  closed  there. 

It  was  impossible  to  do  much  among  the  villages 
where  the  caste  cabal  had  power.  There  were  others 
open  to  us,  so  we  went  to  them.       All  we  wanted  was 


16  He  maketh  the  Stars 

"  The  glory  of  going  on,"  a  commonplace  glory  truly, 
when  going  on  means  ploughing  through  deep  sand  in 
hot  weather  to  reach  dull  little  villages,  where  interest- 
ing things  do  not  happen  very  often ;  but  a  glory  all 
by  itself  because  of  the  joy  wrapped  up  in  its  heart. 
Then  this  was  stopped.  Fever  came.  The  dull  villages 
did  not  respond.  News  reached  us  of  the  declension  of 
some  for  whom  we  had  hoped  great  things.  Everything 
seemed  going  wrong.  It  was  during  this  time,  which 
was  night  to  us,  that  God  hghted  a  star  in  our  sky. 

We  knew  nothing  about  it  at  first.  We  had  left  our 
headquarters  and  were  itinerating  outside  the  prescribed 
area,  when  we  camped  near  a  town  whose  citizens  chiefly 
belong  to  a  Clan  notoriously  turbulent  and  careless  as  to 
spiritual  things.  There  is  no  large  temple  there.  The 
people  are  immersed  in  the  mundane.  One  evening  we 
had  a  large  open-air  meeting.  Looking  back  we  see 
that  day  crowned. 

For  two  heard  then  who  believed.  One  was  a  lad  of 
eighteen  who  had  learnt  in  a  mission  school.  At  that 
meeting  God  met  him  and  reversed  his  life-purpose. 
The  other,  and  the  first  to  come  out  as  a  Christian,  was 
just  a  little  girl.     Star,  we  called  her  afterwards. 

Sometimes  when  we  are  tired  we  spend  an  hour  with 
the  poets.  Thought-music,  word-music  holds  a  charm 
like  the  music  of  moving  waters,  to  soothe  and  heal. 
Sometimes  rest  comes  otherwise.  The  mystery  of 
mighty  spaces,  the  splendour  of  great  forces,  or  the 
magic  of  colour,  the  marvel  of  the  loveliness  about  us 
seems  to  open  suddenly  as  if  another  finer  sense  than 
sight   perceived   it,    and    one's    very   being  thrills   with 


St:u->   littlt'  rouMu;    JU.-.1   i\iv  a^c  Star  \v.is  wli 
the  question  came.j; 


Who  made  me?  17 

an  incommunicable  joy.  Sometimes  a  different  thing 
happens.  One  can  hardly  tell  what.  Only  one  knows 
that,  through  and  through,  one  is  strong  and  glad  and 
well  again.     One  has  seen  part  of  the  Ways  of  God. 

It  was  late  evening,  a  year  after  that  open-air  meeting 
in  the  Clansmen's  town.  We  were  in  camp.  Our  tents 
were  pitched  on  a  large  expanse  of  white  sea  sand  ;  far 
inland,  but  refreshingly  suggestive  of  the  sea.  The  day 
had  been  hot,  and  all  day  long  people  had  been  coming 
from  the  village  near,  not  to  listen,  but  to  stare  and 
talk.  Our  crowded  little  tents  had  been  stifling.  The 
noisy  day,  in  which  little  of  moment  had  been  done,  had 
left  us  tired.  "  Come,"  I  said  to  Star,  who  was  with  us, 
"  let  us  go  out  and  cool."  So  we  wandered  hand  in 
hand  over  the  sand.  Only  the  shadow  of  some  stunted 
palms  crossed  its  whiteness.  Only  the  rustle  of  their 
leaves,  as  the  light  night-wind  blew  over  the  plain,  broke 
its  silence.  We  lay  down  on  it  and  looked  at  the  long 
ribs  and  ripples  where  the  wind  had  played  with  it,  and 
we  let  the  moon-waves  lap  about  us,  and  were  still. 
"  Amma,"  whispered  Star  at  last,  so  gently  that  it  might 
have  been  the  night- wind  speaking  softly,  "  this  re- 
minds me  of  the  first  night  I  spoke  with  God."  We 
had  often  wondered  how  it  was  that  a  child  who  had 
heard  nothing  before  should  so  quickly  understand  and 
respond.     "  Tell  me  about  it,"  I  said  ;  and  she  told  me. 

She  had  often  asked  her  father  to  tell  her  who  made 
her.  She  would  look  at  her  hands  and  feet,  and 
realising  that  they  must  have  been  created  by  someone, 
she  would  go  to  her  wise  old  father  and  weary  him  with 
questions    about    this    unknown    Creator.       Was    it    the 


18  He  maketh  the  Stars 

heavenly  Siva,  whose  aslies  tliey  all  rubbed  across  their 
foreheads  every  morning  after  bathing  ?  There  were  so 
many  gods,  she  grew  puzzled  as  she  counted.  Of  all 
the  gods,  who  was  the  greatest  ?  Was  it  Siva  ?  Could  he 
change  dispositions  ?  She  felt  if  she  could  only  find 
this  out  she  would  be  satisfied,  for  the  god  who  could 
change  dispositions  must  be  the  greatest,  and  surely  the 
greatest  must  be  Creator.  Her  father  did  not  seem  to 
know,  and  tried  to  put  her  off.  This  disheartened  her. 
But  she  would  not  give  in.  There  was  one  way,  she 
reflected,  by  which  she  could  bring  creatorship  and 
sovereignty  down  to  the  test  of  practical  life.  She 
would  discover  the  hidden  being  by  a  process  of  elimina- 
tion. She  would  go  through  all  the  gods  she  knew,  and 
find  out  which  of  them  could  change  dispositions.  She 
decided  to  begin  with  Siva,  whose  name  her  Clansmen 
bore.  Had  not  her  father  gone  to  his  temple  month 
by  month,  with  fasting  and  with  prayer,  pleading  for 
children  to  be  born  to  him  ?  And  had  not  the  heavenly 
Siva  granted  him  eleven  ?  Her  heart  went  out  to  Siva 
with  a  trustful  expectation.  He  would  change  her 
disposition. 

For  she  had  a  trying  temper.  Often  when  she  was 
playing  with  other  children  she  would  get  so  over- 
bearing that  they  would  not  play  with  her.  She  had 
tried  to  conquer  the  fault,  but  there  it  was,  strong,  and 
growing  stronger  in  her.  So  she  prayed  to  Siva,  pros- 
trating herself  before  him,  crying  her  passionate  broken 
prayer  over  and  over  into  the  air  that  never  answered 
her  back  again.  "  0  heavenly  Siva,  hear  me  !  Change 
my   disposition   that    other    children    may  love    me   and 


Who  can  change  Dispositions?  19 

wish,  to  play  with  me  !  0  heavenly  Siva,  hear  me  !  hear 
me  !   hear  me  !  " 

"  And  was  your  disposition  changed  ?  "  "  Oh  no,  no, 
no.  Not  even  was  it  moved  towards  changing.  Then  I 
used  to  go  away  alone  where  nobody  would  see  me,  far 
out  into  the  jungle,  and  lay  my  head  down  on  the 
ground,  and  stretch  my  arms  out,  and  wonder  if  no  one 
would  come.  And  I  tried  some  other  gods,  but  I  got 
tired  of  it.  And  I  wondered  the  more  who  made  me, 
and  why  I  was  made.  And  I  wondered  who  I  was. 
I  said,  I  am  I ;  I  am  I.  But  how  is  it  that  I  am  I  ? 
Then  I  got  tired  of  wondering.  And  I  got  tired  of 
wanting  to  be  good,  for  I  could  not  change  my  disposi- 
tion, and  I  did  not  know  who  could." 

She  went  on,  however,  questioning  any  who  would 
listen.  The  cousin  who  could  have  answered  her  ques- 
tions never  spoke  to  her,  nor  did  she  speak  to  him.  It 
would  not  have  been  proper,  each  being  who  they  were. 
So  no  one  answered  her  questions.  People  thought  them 
foolish,  almost  blasphemous,  considered  her  peculiar, 
because  she  was  unlike  themselves.  An  uncomfortable 
child  they  thought  her,  as  we  gathered  from  what  others 
told  us  ;  a  sort  of  feminine  freak,  not  to  be  taken  seri- 
ously. And  they  looked  at  her  in  a  curious  way,  and 
talked  about  her  among  themselves,  and  pitied  her 
mother.  "  Being  observed,  when  observation  is  not 
sympathy,  is  just  being  tortured."  The  sensitive  flower 
of  our  South  Indian  river  banks  folds  up  its  petals  and 
leaves  at  less  than  a  touch.  The  shiver  of  a  shadow  is 
enough  to  rob  it  of  the  heart  to  look  up.  Poor  little 
human  sensitive  flowers,  growing  only  God  knows  where, 


20  He  maketh  the  Stars 

how  often  it  must  happen  that  they  are  chilled  and  hurt 
just  when  their  petals  open  and  smile  up  to  the  sky  ! 
The  child  repulsed  made  up  her  mind  that  she  never 
would  ask  any  questions  again.  But  she  thought  the 
more.  In  this  way  she  was  being  prepared  to  listen 
when  the  answer  came,  and  to  understand. 


CHAPTER   IV 
^^Lo!  these  are  Parts  of  His  Ways" 

IT  came  unexpectedly.  One  evening  she  went  for 
water  as  usual  to  the  well  from  which  her  people 
drew,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  The  little 
terra-cotta  coloured  vessel  was  under  her  arm.  She  had 
only  one  thought,  to  fill  it  and  bring  it  home  quickly, 
and  run  back  for  another.  Then  she  might  go  and  play. 
But  she  saw  a  crowd  gathered  near  the  well,  and  being 
only  a  Httle  girl  she  forgot  about  her  work,  and  stood  on 
the  wet  stones  by  the  well  and  looked  and  listened. 
"  There  were  three  white  people,  and  a  talking  noise,  and 
a  singing  noise,  and  a  box  which  made  a  noise."  This 
was  the  first  impression  produced  by  ourselves  and  our 
baby  organ,  and  the  ardent  singing  of  the  half-dozen 
Indian  helpers.     It  was  all  just  a  noise. 

Presently  she  moved  away.  Then  a  madman  came 
and  tried  to  disturb  the  meeting.  "  See  the  white  man 
beat  the  madman  !  "  shouted  the  crowd  with  enthusiasm. 
This  would  be  interesting.  The  child  stopped  and 
watched.  But  the  white  man  only  put  his  arm  on  the 
madman's  shoulder,  and  drew  him  gently  out  of  the 
crowd,  while  the  Indian  brother  continued  speaking. 
This  was  a  tame  proceeding.     She  turned  again  to  go. 

21 


22       "Lo!    THESE    ARE    PaRTS    OF    HiS    WaYS  " 

Just  then  a  sentence  repeated  several  times  by  tlie 
preaclier  caught  her  attention  :  "  There  is  a  living  God. 
There  is  a  living  God  :  He  turned  me,  a  lion,  into  a 
lamb." 

Then,  with  the  suddenness  of  a  new  discovery,  it 
flashed  upon  her  that  here  at  last  was  the  answer  to  her 
questions.  The  God  who  could  change  a  lion-man  into  a 
lamb  was  the  God  who  could  change  dispositions,  so  the 
greatest  God,  so  Creator.  His  being  described  as  living 
implied  that  the  rest  were  dead.  "  I  will  not  worship  a 
dead  god,"  she  almost  spoke  aloud  in  her  eagerness. 
"  Siva  is  a  dead  god.  I  will  not  rub  his  ashes  on  my 
forehead."  Then  she  went  slowly  home,  pondering  those 
luminous  words,  "  There  is  a  living  God  :  there  is  a  living 
God."  And  in  telhng  about  it  she  added  simply,  "  I  did 
not  want  to  sleep  that  night.  I  wanted  to  lie  awake  all 
night  and  talk  to  the  living  God." 

Next  morning,  hke  the  svv^ift  surprise  of  sunrise,  a 
feehng  of  new  happiness  rose  in  her,  and  surrounded  her, 
so  that  all  the  world  looked  different,  and  she  danced  as 
she  walked.  Being  only  such  a  little  girl,  she  was  free  to 
go  where  she  would,  only  not  to  defiling  places,  such  as 
a  Christian  camp.  She  found  her  way  to  it  notwith- 
standing, and  sat  on  the  floor  of  our  tent  among  other 
village  children,  and  learned  a  chorus,  which  struck  her 
as  remarkable  because  it  was  so  easily  understood.  (The 
poetry  to  which  she  was  accustomed  was  difficult  to 
understand.)  But  this  was  all  so  very  new  that  she 
understood  little  of  what  she  heard.  "  My  heart  was 
like  a  little  room.  It  could  not  hold  much  then.  Only 
I  understood  you  said  that  the  true  God  heard  us  when 


The  Test  23 

we  prayed,  and  very  dearly  loved  us  all.  This  entering 
in  made  room  for  itself."  We  knew  nothing  of  the 
earnest  little  listener  ;  did  not  even  notice  her  among 
the  others,  for  she  kept  in  the  background  shyly,  and 
ran  home  without  speaking  to  us. 

And  as  she  ran  home  she  resolved  she  would  test 
this  living  God.  She  would  ask  Him  for  three  things. 
If  He  should  answer  twice  out  of  three  times  by  doing 
just  as  she  asked,  she  would  be  sure  He  really  heard, 
and  really  dearly  loved. 

When  she  got  home,  her  mother  was  standing  on  the 
doorstep  with  a  switch  in  her  hand.  This  meant  a 
whipping.  Quick  as  thought  she  prayed,  "  Living  God, 
0  Living  God  !   do  not  let  my  mother  whip  me  !  " 

Her  mother  caught  her  by  the  arm.  "  Where  have 
you  been,  you  naughty  child  ?  Oh,  you  evil  one,  come 
here  !  You  are  a  perverse  monkey  cub  !  You  have 
been  to  those  low-caste  people  !  "  And  a  stinging  swish 
of  the  switch  on  her  little  bare  arms  and  shoulders  was 
all  the  answer  she  saw  tc  her  prayer. 

But  she  kept  quiet.  "  A  sort  of  peace  was  in  my 
heart.  I  remembered  you  had  said  perhaps  we  would 
be  punished  for  listening,  but  that  God  would  be  with 
us  and  help  us  to  bear  it ;  so  I  kept  quite  still.  It  was 
peace."  But  the  mother,  mistaking  the  peace  for  sullen- 
ness,  and  being  provoked  by  the  child's  unwonted  silence, 
exclaimed,  "  Those  low-caste  people  have  perverted  you 
already  !  You  have  no  feeling.  You  shall  have  a  double 
whipping  !  "  and  administered  it  forthwith.  Then,  indeed, 
distressed  and  much  bewildered  at  this  first  and  most 
evident  failure  of  the  test,  upon  which  som.ehow  she  felt 


24       "Lo!    THESE   ARE    PaRTS    OF   HiS    WaYS  " 

islie  had  staked  more  than  she  quite  understood,  the  poor 
child  broke  out  into  bitter  sobs,  and  the  mother  relented 
and  was  kind.     But  she  cried  herself  to  sleep  that  night. 

Next  day  saw  her  at  the  camp  again,  risking  another 
whipping,  she  knew  ;  but  she  did  not  mind  that.  Nor 
did  her  conscience  prick  her  for  disobedience ;  she 
regarded  the  whipping  as  quite  scoring  off  her  debt  of 
duty  to  her  mother.  "  I  disobey  :  she  whips  me  :  we 
are  quits." 

This  time  she  heard  a  chorus  about  Jesus'  love, 
salvation,  and  power  to  keep,  explained  ;  and  gathering 
that  Jesus  was  the  Living  God,  she  prayed  to  Him  as 
she  ran  home  that  evening,  "  0  Jesus  !  Living  God,  out 
of  three  prayers  answer  two  !  " 

Her  way  led  through  a  road  bordered  by  tamarind 
trees.  The  ripe  fruit  hung  low.  But  it  is  steahng  to 
gather  fruit ;  you  may  only  eat  it  if  it  falls  of  itself. 
She  stopped,  she  prayed,  "  0  Jesus  !  Living  God  !  make 
the  fruit  fall."     And  a  pod  fell  at  her  feet. 

"  One  out  of  two  ;  that  leaves  one  to  show  for  certain 
whether  He  really  is  hearing  and  loving,"  she  thought  as 
she  ran  along,  quickly  now,  for  it  was  dark,  and  punish- 
ment most  probable.  "  Jesus  !  Living  God  !  "  she  prayed, 
as  she  raced  almost  breathless  up  to  the  door,  "  don't  let 
my  mother  whip  me  !     Jesus  !  Living  God,  listen  !  " 

"  Oh,  my  heart  thumped  hard  as  I  saw  my  mother 
standing  on  the  step.  She  had  not  the  switch  in  her 
hand.  She  met  me.  She  drew  me  in.  She  said,  *  I 
thought  you  were  lost  in  the  dark,  my  child  1  Come  in 
and  have  your  supper.'     She  did  not  whip  me  at  all." 

This  settled  the  question  for  ever.     The  Living  God, 


The  Question  settled  25 

Jesus,  did  hear  prayer,  did  answer,  did  love.  She  would 
never  doubt  Him  again,  she  told  Him.  She  would 
worship  no  other,  pray  to  no  other. 

It  was  a  long  story,  but  it  did  not  seem  long.  The 
moon  rode  high  overhead  as  we  went  back  to  camp. 
The  night  was  alight  with  the  beauty  of  it  and  the 
peace. 

This  was  the  child  whose  coming  had  been  as  star- 
rise  to  us  a  year  ago.  I  looked  back  through  the  year 
that  night.  All  along  we  had  felt  that  she  was  not 
an  ordinary  child.  There  was  always  something  intense 
about  her.  There  was  something  unusual  too  in  the 
way  she  had  laid  hold  of  each  new  truth  as  it  was 
shown.  She  seemed  to  possess  it  at  once.  But  enough 
of  the  inner  story  :  God  has  put  our  soul  somewhere  out 
of  sight,  and  our  first  conscious  instinct  is  to  pull  the 
curtain  closer  round  it,  and  cover  it  up  from  people's 
eyes.  So  the  tale  of  the  weeks  that  followed  her  first 
coming  to  us  shall  remain  untold.  We  who  taught  her 
learned  much  ourselves.  Our  work  was  just  to  stand 
out  of  the  light  and  let  it  shine  full  upon  her.  After 
a  few  weeks'  teaching,  suddenly  she  was  snatched  away. 


CHAPTEK   V 

IilVEN  in  early  childliood's  days  she  had  been  an 
A  ardent  little  idolater.  When  others  stood  in 
worship,  she  knelt.  When  others  knelt,  she  fell 
on  her  face.  "  So  far  did  I  worship  my  god,"  she  said 
sorrowfully  in  telling  us  of  it.  Her  father  and  mother 
called  it  "  the  god."  She  always  called  it  "  my  god." 
It  was  she  who  persuaded  her  father  to  spend  large 
sums  of  money  upon  works  of  merit  to  the  honour  of 
their  god.  It  was  she  who  twisted  the  chickens'  necks 
when  the  annual  sacrifice  was  offered.  She  loved  to  see 
the  goat's  blood  flow,  because  it  belonged  to  her  god. 
And  now  her  parents  had  sent  for  her  to  take  part  in 
a  family  festival.  She  might  return,  they  said,  in  four 
days,  but  she  must  come  at  once. 

She  had  been  staying  near  our  home,  with  a  relative, 
who  had  allowed  her  to  spend  m.ost  of  her  time  with  us. 
Her  parents,  who  during  the  interval  had  become  known 
to  us,  had  not  objected  to  our  teaching  her ;  they 
thought  of  her  as  a  mere  child.  But  stories  of  what 
she  was  saying  and  doing  had  floated  out  to  them,  and 
alarmed  them.  She  must  be  recalled.  The  festival 
was  made    the    pretext.       The    real    intention,    we    felt, 


Only  four  Days?  27 

was  to  get  her  out  of  our  influence,  and  we  feared  a 
marriage  would  be  arranged,  and  completed  as  quickly 
as  possible. 

But  she  had  no  such  feelings  and  fears.  "  Only  four 
days  and  I  will  be  back  !  "  And  she  danced  about  in 
delight.  For  she  was  still  a  happy  child,  with  the 
careless  confidence  of  a  child,  and  all  a  child's  love  of 
excitement.  Apart  from  the  religious  element,  with 
which  she  was  sure  she  would  have  nothing  to  do, 
the  festival  would  be  enchanting ;  new  clothes,  and 
new  jewels,  and  such  lovely  decorations,  and  delicious 
things  to  eat.  "  I  will  not  be  forced  to  do  anything 
wrong.  I  will  say  I  am  Jesus'  child.  I  will  tell  them 
all  about  Him.  It  will  be  all  right,"  she  said  as  she 
opened  the  little  Gospel  of  St.  Mark  which  she  had  just 
begun  to  spell  out  slowly,  and  we  settled  down  for 
our  last  talk.  This  was  difficult  to  me.  It  is  always 
difficult  to  say  anything  which  might  suggest  disloyal 
thoughts  to  a  child.  But  parenthood  is  so  often  lost 
in  Hinduhood  here,  that  one  felt  bound  to  prepare  this 
little  one,  so  fearless  in  her  innocence,  for  what  might 
lie  before  her.  So  we  talked  about  the  difference 
between  the  yieldedness  of  spirit  where  her  own  wishes 
were  concerned,  which  would  please  her  Lord  and 
perhaps  win  her  parents,  and  the  weakness  of  will 
where  His  wishes  were  concerned,  which  would  be 
fatal  compromise.  And  then  with  her  clinging  hands 
in  mine  I  committed  her  to  His  tenderness.  But  my 
heart  sank  as  I  saw  her  go. 

The  weeks   that  followed   passed  slowly.     We  heard 
nothing  of    our    child.       We  knew  she  would  have  sent 


28  ''Yet" 

a  message  had  she  not  been  prevented.  We  knew  of 
one  who,  for  a  less  fault  than  hers,  had  been  kept  in 
chains  for  three  full  years.  We  knew  that  if  chains 
were  in  question  now,  any  move  on  our  part  would 
only  rivet  them  the  more  firmly.  We  could  do  nothing 
for  her  but  pray  and  pray  again. 

Then  came  the  most  sorrowful  day.  News  reached  us 
at  last.  She  had  given  in,  we  heard.  A  family  council 
had  been  called.  They  had  mocked  the  little  lonely 
girl.  She  had  been  ordered  to  worship  the  idol  she  used 
to  serve,  and  rub  Siva's  ashes  on  her  forehead.  She  had 
refused.  Punishment  followed.  She  could  not  bear  it. 
She  yielded  at  last,  bowed  to  the  idol,  rubbed  on  the 
ashes.     She  would  soon  be  married  and  sent  far  away. 

As  our  bullock  cart  rumbled  back  home  over  the  broken 
road  from  the  town  where  we  had  heard  it,  there  was  time 
to  feel  it  all.  Everything  seemed  to  feel  it  too.  The  lake 
we  skirted  blazed  in  a  still  white  fire  of  pain.  The  palms 
by  the  roadside  drooped  with  it.  The  cart  wheels  ground 
it  out  of  the  sand.      Life  at  such  times  is  tense. 

But  there  was  one  verse  which  came  to  us  then,  over 
and  over  again.  We  were,  you  remember,  shut  out  from 
the  homes  of  the  people,  because  the  coming  of  converts 
had  closed  their  hearts  against  us.  There  was  no  sign  of 
hope  or  joy  anywhere  just  then  ;  no  sheaf  to  lay  at  His 
feet :  "  Although  the  fig  tree  shall  not  blossom,  neither 
shall  fruit  be  in  the  vines  ;  the  labour  of  the  olive  shall 
fail,  and  the  fields  shall  yield  no  meat ;  the  flocks  shall  be 
cut  of!  from  the  fold,  and  there  shall  be  no  herd  in  the 
stalls  :  Yet  will  I  rejoice  in  the  Lord  ;  I  will  joy  in  the 
God  of  my  salvation." 


The  *' Impossible"  29 

There  was  another  Yet. 

"  No  darkness  is  so  deep  but  white 
Wings  of  the  angels  through  can  pierce, 
Nor  any  chain  such  heaps  Hes  in 
But  God's  Own  hand  can  hold  it  light ; 
Nor  is  there  any  flame  so  fierce 

But  Christ  Himself  can  stand  therein." 

We  were  to  prove  it  true. 

Every  one  assured  us  that  it  was  perfectly  impossible 
to  do  anything  for  the  child.  It  was  impossible  she 
could  be  saved  from  what  to  her  would  be  a  daily  death. 
The  most  we  could  ask  for  her  was  a  quick  release,  and 
faith  to  the  end.  For  nothing  we  heard  could  make  us 
feel  that  her  denial  of  her  Lord  was  more  than  something 
wrested  from  her  by  deadly  fear.  So  we  prayed  on 
these  Hues  for  a  while.  Then,  in  spite  of  all  that  was 
said,  all  the  verses  we  had  ever  read  about  God's  doing 
impossible  things  came  crowding  into  our  mind.  We 
could  not  give  up  hope.  Together  we  waited  upon  Him 
to  do  the  impossible  for  her. 

It  was  Sunday,  a  week  later.  We  had  heard  nothing 
in  the  interval.  I  was  alone  in  my  room,  reading  before 
the  first  bell  rang  for  morning  service.  Many  verses 
had  a  voice,  and  that  voice  hers.  "I  am  so  fast  in 
prison  that  I  cannot  get  out."  "  Comfort  the  soul  of 
Thy  servant :  for  unto  Thee,  0  Lord,  do  I  Hft  up  my 
soul.  In  the  time  of  my  trouble  I  will  call  upon  Thee, 
for  Thou  hearest  me.  Among  the  gods  there  is  none 
like  unto  Thee,  0  Lord  :  there  is  not  one  that  can  do 
a^  Thou  doest."  She  had  said  so,  all  bore  witness  to  it. 
If  only  she  had  not  given  in  !     But  He  would  not  forget 


30  "Yet" 

she  had  said  it,  and  suffered  for  saying  it.  "  Teach  me 
Thy  way,  0  Lord,  and  I  will  walk  in  Thy  truth.  Oh,  knit 
my  heart  unto  Thee  !  "  And  then  one's  own  heart  found 
voice  in  the  cry,  hardly  could  it  be  called  a  prayer,  for 
faith  was  tired  that  day,  "  Show  some  token  upon  me 
for  good  !  "  Oh,  what  a  token  for  good  it  would  be  if 
our  Star-child  might  come  back  to  us  ! 

Some  quiet  minutes  passed.  The  bell  began  to  ring, 
and  I  was  just  about  to  get  ready  for  church,  when 
there  was  a  little  sound  at  the  door,  a  little  hand  pushed 
the  sun-blind  back — and  we  had  our  child  again. 

We  never  knew  quite  what  had  happened,  for  she  was 
very  ill  for  weeks  ;  the  overstrain  had  told.  But  some 
things  became  clear.  There  had  been  a  family  council, 
but  she  had  not  given  in.  God's  hand  had  lighted  that 
little  star.  No  storm  could  blow  it  out.  All  we  had 
heard  had  been  done,  and  more.  She  was  so  much 
gentler  and  more  obedient  than  ever  she  had  been  before, 
that  her  parents  had  been  encouraged  to  think  she  would 
not  hold  out  long.  But  the  strong  old  father  found  in 
the  weakness  of  his  child  a  strength  made  perfect.  His 
allowing  her  to  return  to  us  is,  to  all  who  know  South 
India,  very  wonderful.  "  There  is  not  one  who  can  do 
as  Thou  doest." 

I  asked  her  what  helped  her  most  through  those 
weeks.  She  knew  so  little  of  the  Bible  then,  that  I 
wondered  what  she  would  say.  She  told  me  she  kept 
the  Gospel  of  St.  Mark  tied  up  in  her  dress  as  long  as 
she  could.  It  was  discovered,  and  taken  from  her. 
"  So  I  had  not  the  comforting  feel  of  it,"  she  said.  "  But 
I  remembered  they  could  not  take  away  Jesus,   and  I 


"The  Glory  of  the  Impossible"  31 

remembered  how  He  walked  in  the  fire  with  Shadrach, 
Meshach,  and  Abednego  ;  and  how  the  fire  could  not 
burn  their  bodies  or  anything  upon  them,  except  the 
cords.  And  I  thought  it  was  a  good  thing  it  burnt  the 
cords,  for  they  could  not  have  walked  in  the  fire  with 
Jesus  if  the  cords  had  not  been  burnt.  So  I  asked  Him 
to  let  the  fire  burn  my  cords.  After  that  I  don't 
remember  anything.     Only  I  think  the  fire  got  cool." 

There  are  some  ancient  stories  which  are  wonderfully 
vivified  by  present-day  experience.  "  Let  them  know 
that  Thou  art  Lord,  the  only  God,  and  glorious  over  the 
whole  world."  So  the  Song  of  the  Three  Holy  Children 
tells  us  they  prayed.  And  "  The  angel  of  the  Lord 
came  down,  and  smote  the  flame  of  the  fire  out  of  the 
oven  ;  and  made  the  midst  of  the  furnace  as  it  had 
been  a  moist  whistling  wind  so  that  the  fire  touched 
them  not  at  all,  neither  hurt  nor  troubled  them."  And 
even  more  brightly  lighted  up,  the  old  words  stand  out 
alive  and  strong  :  "  Did  we  not  cast  three  men  bound 
into  the  midst  of  the  fi.re  ?  Lo,  I  see  four  men  loose, 
walking  in  the  midst  of  the  fire,  and  they  have  no  hurt." 

We  keep  the  date  of  the  coming  to  us  of  each  girl 
and  child  as  a  birthday.  There  are  feasts  and  flowers 
and  little  surprises,  as  on  a  birthday  at  home.  And  the 
fifth  anniversary  especially  is  held  as  a  gala  day.  The 
Star-child,  who  is  now  Accal  (older  sister)  to  a  number 
of  affectionate  little  ones,  gives  us  a  look  into  the  loving 
ways  of  the  East,  through  a  letter  written  to  a  friend 
telling  about  her  fifth  coming-day.  "  I  never  had  a  day 
like  it.  It  was  a  day  with  a  garland  upon  it.  My 
little    sisters    said   to   me   the   evening  before,   '  Call  us 


32  "Yet" 

early  in  the  morning,  because  we  want  to  see  you  early, 
for  to-morrow  is  a  kind  of  little  Christmas  day.'  And 
in  the  morning  they  kissed  me  much,  and  they  all  came 
round  me  and  said,  '  Dear  Acca  !  this  is  our  joyful  day, 
because  it  is  your  Coming-day.'  Then  we  went  to  the 
lake  to  bathe.  And  as  we  went  through  the  wood  the 
church  bell  rang  for  the  schoolboys'  morning  service. 
Then  they  all  kissed  me  again  and  said,  '  Are  you  very 
tired,  Acca,  after  your  long,  long  walk  ?  '  for  it  was  to 
them  as  if  I  had  walked  that  morning  all  the  way  from 
my  father's  house.  And  as  we  went  they  wanted  to  tell 
some  one  about  it.  But  we  met  no  one  in  the  wood. 
So  they  called  to  the  sky,  '  0  sky,  hear  us  !  This  is  our 
Accal's  Coming-day  !  '  And  they  called  to  the  palms, 
'  0  palms,  hear  us  !     This  is  our  Accal's  Coming-day  !  '  " 

Five  years  bound  round  with  deliverances  and  answers 
to  prayer  :  many  a  time  the  father  had  come  to  claim 
her  and  enforce  his  right  to  make  her  do  as  he  willed. 
Each  time,  as  if  compelled  to  let  go,  he  went  away 
without  her.  We  could  have  done  nothing  to  keep  her 
had  he  insisted.  When  he  came,  one  of  us  always  went 
away  alone  and  continued  waiting  upon  God  till  the 
conflict  had  found  its  conclusion  in  peace.  Once  as  he 
went  away  he  was  heard  to  mutter,  "  What  is  the  matter 
with  me  ?  My  hands  are  strong  to  take  her  !  It  is  as 
if  I  were  bound  and  held  from  touching  her." 

Enough  :  we  have  told  enough  to  sweeten  some  song 
in  the  night.  If  the  angels  care  enough  to  sing  over 
each  saved  one  everywhere,  well  may  we  sing  when  even 
one  star  is  lighted  and  kept  alight.  But  our  sky  was 
not  left  long  with  only  one  little  star  in  it.     One  by  one, 


"Praise  Him,  all  ye  Stars  of  Light!"     33 

just  as  the  stars  come  out  in  the  evening,  dropping 
through  the  deepening  blue,  how,  you  hardly  know,  so 
these  stars  came  ;  each  the  herald  of  another. 

"  Cursed  be  your  feet  that  made  the  first  track  in  the 
sand  for  these  others  to  follow,"  said  the  father,  head  of 
the  Clan,  incensed  as  he  saw  brothers  and  cousins  and 
other  young  kinsmen  turning  the  way  she  had  gone.  But 
the  angels  look  at  it  differently. 


CHAPTER   VI 
Opened 

STAR,  grown-up  now,  was  with  me  when,  six  years 
after  our  last  attempt,  God  opened  the  Fort  to  us. 
She  and  I  had  been  travelUng  together  on  the 
Eastern  side  of  the  district.  Some  of  her  relatives  lived 
in  the  town  to  which  the  Fort  belongs,  and  we  had  left 
our  direct  route  home  to  visit  them.  But  dearly  though 
she  loved  them.  Star  found  they  and  she  had  httle  in 
common.  The  sorrow  of  this  discovery  was  upon  her 
when  we  remembered  the  Fort ;  and  it  was  with  a 
quickened  appreciation  of  the  miracle  of  conversion 
where  such  souls  are  concerned,  that  we  approached 
that  little  citadel,  and  once  more  sought  an  entrance  in 
the  name  of  the  Lord. 

We  found  the  same  door  locked  and  the  same  door 
open,  as  before.  Time  seemed  to  have  gone  to  sleep 
where  the  old  Fort  was  concerned.  All  within  appeared 
empty  and  silent,  just  as  it  had  been  before.  We  walked 
through  the  streets  unchallenged. 

On  the  far  side  we  found  a  grey  old  temple  enclosed 
by  a  high  red  and  white  wall.  A  tamarind  tree  is  beside 
it,  and  glad  to  get  out  of  the  brilHant  light,  light  beating 
down  from  unclouded  blue,  and  hght  beating  up  from 


In  the  Fort  again  35 

the  glittering  sand,  we  stood  in  the  cool  green  shade 
and  prayed  that  someone  might  come  to  whom  we 
could  speak. 

Soon  from  the  distance  voices  came  jangling  irreve- 
rently through  the  universal  silence.  Then  some  field 
women  strolled  across  the  open  and  accosted  us  in  the 
friendliest  way,  shouting  all  together  in  their  astonish- 
ment at  seeing  us.  They  were  the  Fort  people's  ser- 
vants, they  said  ;  they  worked  in  the  Fort  fields  outside, 
and  did  the  rough  work  of  the  place.  They  applauded 
our  wisdom  in  not  knocking  at  any  of  the  house  doors. 
"  It  would  have  greatly  disturbed  the  women.  Why 
should  you  trouble  them  ?  "  They  advised  us  to  go  out 
again,  because  no  one  would  let  us  in.  "  The  evangelisa- 
tion of  the  world  in  this  generation  "  is  our  motto  ;  but 
how  are  you  to  evangelise  people  when  you  cannot  get 
at  them  ?  The  women  had  work  to  do,  and  they  left  us 
under  the  tree. 

We  had  not  knocked  at  any  door,  partly  lest  we 
should  startle  the  shy  inhabitants,  and  partly  because  we 
were  so  anxious  to  be  led  to  the  heart  prepared.  More 
and  more  we  feel  that  in  work  of  this  kind  we  need  to 
be  led  to  the  one  who,  through  some  previous  dealing  of 
the  Spirit,  is  ready  to  discern  the  truth.  So  once  more 
we  walked  past  the  silent  shut-up  houses,  looking  for  an 
open  door. 

We  found  one  at  last.  Our  call  was  answered  by  a 
girl's  voice.  We  went  in  and  found  a  young  girl  in 
possession.  Her  face  struck  me  at  once  as  famiHar, 
though  I  could  not  have  seen  it  before. 

She  was  a  young  wife,  tall  and  slight,  with  hair  that 


36  Opened 

waved  and  curled  round  tlie  smooth  low  brow.  Her 
eyes  shone  when  she  spoke  to  us  or  smiled,  but  when  she 
was  only  listening  the  light  in  them  passed,  and  her 
normal  expression  seemed  one  of  depression,  sharpened 
by  the  keenness  of  some  disappointment.  She  sighed  as 
she  sat  down,  after  spreading  a  mat  for  us.  And  she 
sighed  as  she  listened. 

"  Sister  !  "  Star  began  in  her  simple  earnest  way,  "  we 
have  come  to  bring  good  news  to  you.  There  is  a  living 
God  who  loves  you.  He  has  always  loved  you.  He  sent 
us  here  to  tell  you  so."  "  Who  loves  me  ?  "  interrupted 
the  girl.     "  I  have  no  children." 

We  knew  enough  of  the  customs  of  the  Fort  to  under- 
stand. The  childless  wife  might  any  day  become  the 
childless  widow.  To  such  a  one  a  terribly  severe  punish- 
ment is  meted  out.  We  had  heard  the  smothered  cry 
of  one  as  we  passed  the  house  where  she  was  confined  in 
what  a  child,  in  describing  it,  called  the  "  eighth  (very 
innermost)  room  of  the  house." 

It  is  not  true,  thank  God,  that  confinement  to  an  Indian 
girl  is  what  it  would  be  to  an  English  girl.  The  free, 
open-air  loving  spirit  is  rarer  here  than  at  home.  But 
no  words  can  overstate  the  bitterness  poured  into  many 
a  cup.  And  the  song — if  such  tear- words  can  make  a 
song — that  the  Fort- widow  sings  is  this  :  "  Where  it 
will  may  the  river  wander  ;  where  she  will  the  wife  may 
wander.  Pent  by  its  banks  is  the  pool.  Pent  by  her 
fate  is  the  widow.  I,  the  widow,  am  as  the  pool,  as  the 
pool  that  never  may  wander." 

Only  a  thread  withheld  this  from  that  girl.  Should 
fate  cut  that  thread,  her  husband's  life,  what  an  Indian 


In  a  Fort  House  37 

widow  has  quietly  called  "  the  cold  fire "  would  be 
kindled  for  her.  And  all  hfe  was  a  fear  to  her  because 
she  had  no  children  at  seventeen. 

For  a  moment  the  two  girls  looked  at  each  other. 
One  saw  how  very  alike  they  were.  They  might  have 
been  sisters.  But  a  world  of  difference  lay  between  ; 
one  saw  it  and  ached  to  see  it  as  the  Star-child  leaning 
forward  held  out  her  hands  beseechingly,  "  Take  it ! 
His  love  is  all  for  you.  Oh,  sister,  this  news  was 
beautiful  to  me  and  the  joy  of  joys  " — while  the  other, 
leaning  back  lest  defiUng  hands  should  touch  her, 
answered  the  eager  words  with  a  yawn.  "  Is  that  so  ?  " 
she  said  at  last,  and  rose  ;  "I  must  go  and  do  my 
cooking." 

Had  she  the  heart  prepared  ?  It  did  not  seem  like  it. 
And  yet  one  never  knows.  The  seed  strikes  root  some- 
times in  a  narrow  crevice  in  the  rock. 

We  found  another  open  door,  and  went  in  full  of 
expectation.  A  mother  was  there,  and  a  family  of 
children  ;  bonnie  babies  played  on  the  floor,  and  the 
elder  ones  clustered  about  us  close,  but  never  close 
enough  to  touch,  for  that  would  be  pollution. 

It  was  the  usual  South  Indian  room,  dark  save  for 
the  shaft  of  light  which  fell  from  the  open  door.  It 
was  furnished  with  a  great  brass  lamp,  hung  with 
oleander  flowers  ;  and  there  was  one  unusual  thing,  a  bed 
of  dark  wood  finely  carved,  of  a  quaint  involved  design. 
A  pile  of  silk  garments  lay  on  it,  crimson  and  a  golden 
brown,  and  the  shaft  of  sunlight  fell  on  the  pile,  and 
lighted  the  room  with  colour.  There  was  colour  too  in 
the  group  on  the  floor,  where  half  in  sight  and  half  in 


38  Opened 

shadow,  making  unconscious  pictures,  the  mother  and 
children  sat  looking  at  us  with  that  calm  scrutiny  which 
in  India  precedes  speech,  be  the  speech  when  it  comes 
never  so  trivial.  "  Why  have  you  got  no  jewels  and  no 
oil  on  your  hair  ?  "  they  asked  at  length,  and  launched 
into  conversation. 

One  by  one  the  women  from  the  inner  rooms  came 
out.  There  was  not  a  sound  or  a  movement  as  we  tried 
to  show  our  Lord  to  them.  Almost  breathless  in  her 
eagerness,  knowing  she  might  never  see  them  again,  Star 
told  them  the  wonderful  story,  and  still  there  was  silence 
as  I  continued,  feeling  afresh  as  one  told  it  freshly  to 
those  who  had  never  heard  it,  the  infinite  marvel  of  it. 
Oh  for  words  to  tell  it  as  it  deserves  to  be  told  !  Could 
any  heart  resist  it  ?  How  we  longed  to  stay  with  these 
women,  become  Fort  women  to  them,  and  tell  them  all 
about  the  love  of  Jesus  over  and  over,  till  we  could  be 
sure  they  understood  !  But  that  could  not  be.  Caste 
comes  at  once  and  makes  a  distance  between  us  and 
those  to  whom  we  would  fain  be  as  sisters.  We  stayed 
as  long  as  they  cared  we  should,  then  left  them  regret- 
fully. A  man  saw  us  as  we  left  the  house,  but  he  took 
no  notice  of  us  ;  so  far  as  getting  in  was  concerned,  the 
Fort  was  open  at  last,  and  we  went  where  we  would 
through  the  quiet  streets  and  searched  for  our  first 
friend,  the  one  who  had  listened  six  years  before  ;  but 
we  could  not  find  her.  Death  had  not  waited  outside 
those  six  years  ;  that  was  a  sobering  thought.  And  we 
tried  to  find  some  trace  of  the  seed  sown  years  ago  by 
the  sister  we  knew  had  once  gone  in  ;  but  the  seed  had 
not  been  watered,  how  could  it  have  lived  ?       Perhaps 


Opened,  but  not  occupied  39 

the  seed  that  sister  sowed  was  the  seed-corn  of  prayer. 
Thank  God  that  seed  is  imperishable.  In  the  opening 
of  the  Fort  we  saw  that  seed  in  fruit. 

But  now  that  it  is  open  who  is  there  to  go  in  ?  Our 
Mission  is  considered  well  manned  and  well  organised. 
Everything  is  arranged  in  departments.  There  is  a 
Biblewoman  department,  with,  its  natural  sequence,  a 
Converts'  home.  There  is  a  Biblewoman  in  the  town  to 
which  the  Fort  is  attached.  But  the  place  lies  some 
distance  from  her  home  ;  she  has  plenty  of  nearer  work, 
she  cannot  undertake  the  Fort.  There  is  no  other 
woman  in  the  town  who  can.  And  only  a  woman  has 
the  entree  to  the  Fort.  So  that  the  most  it  can  have 
is  an  occasional  visit.  Not  that  it  wants  more,  or  as 
much.  It  is  not  asking  for  anything.  There  is  no 
consciousness  of  need.  Still,  it  is  open  so  far,  as  we 
have  shown.  The  narrowness  of  centuries  is  widening 
a  little,  the  exclusiveness  is  a  little  less  pronounced. 
And  yet,  in  this  "  well-manned "  Mission,  the  workers 
are  still  too  few  to  allow  of  one  being  immediately 
set  apart  to  buy  up  an  opportunity,  buyable  now  for  the 
first  time.  The  truth  is  that  workers  of  the  right  sort 
are  far  too  few  to  buy  up  one  out  of  every  hundred 
opportunities,  here  and  everywhere. 


CHAPTER   VII 
The  Clan 

THEY  are  a  set  of  dare  devils ;  we  know  them 
well "  :  this  was  the  picturesque  description  the 
Superintendent  of  Police  gave  us  when  we  asked 
him  about  the  Clan.  The  people  of  the  Clan  dwell  in 
two  towns  about  six  miles  apart.  They  are  as  one  man 
in  sentiment  and  character,  and  they  do  not  love  the 
Christian  religion. 

The  boy  of  eighteen,  who,  with  his  cousin  Star,  heard 
the  Gospel  preached  in  the  open-air  meeting  by  the 
well,  kept  silent  at  first  as  to  his  determination  to  be 
a  Christian.  His  father,  one  of  the  wealthiest  men  in 
the  place,  would  disinherit  him  he  knew.  He  did  not 
fear  that.  What  he  did  fear  was  the  abandonment  of 
grief  into  which  his  action  would  plunge  his  family. 
Also,  being  a  human  boy,  he  feared  being  beaten.  A 
beating  in  the  Tamil  country  may  mean  anything,  from  a 
good  whipping  with  a  switch  or  rope  up  to  cudgelling, 
from  which  even  a  grown  man  might  shrink.  So  the  boy 
was  silent  for  a  while. 

Just  at  that  time  his  town  and  its  twin  town  were 
agitated  over  an  event  which  had  deeply  affected  a 
neighbouring    village.      A    young    girl    belonging    to    a 

40 


Victory  to  Siva?  41 

much  respected  caste  had  confessed  Christ  openly,  and 
been  obhged  to  leave  her  home  and  take  refuge  else- 
where. Immediately  following  this,  another  girl,  belong- 
ing to  the  twin  town,  took  her  stand  as  a  Christian,  by 
refusing  to  carry  a  pot,  pierced  with  a  thousand  holes, 
which  holes  in  Tamil  are  called  eyes,  as  an  offering  to 
the  goddess  who  had,  as  was  believed,  restored  her  eye- 
sight. "  It  was  the  Christians'  God  Who  healed  my 
eyes.     I  will  not  carry  the  pot." 

It  is  true  that  a  girl  is  a  thing  of  small  consequence 
in  the  life  of  a  Hindu  town.  It  is  also  true  that  nothing 
creates  more  disturbance  in  that  same  life  than  any 
independent  action  on  the  part  of  a  girl.  The  Clan, 
as  head  caste  in  the  place,  concerned  itself  in  the  case. 
The  parents  were  encouraged  to  use  extreme  measures. 
The  Clan  promised  to  back  them  up  in  whatever  they 
chose  to  do.  One  night,  armed  with  a  billhook  and  a 
knife,  mother  and  father  made  a  feint  of  attacking  the 
girl,  but  she  was  not  terrified  though  they  almost  beat 
her  to  death.  All  this  was  known  to  the  Clan.  "Go  on  ! 
We  shall  see  who  will  conquer,"  they  said,  "  Siva  or 
Christ."  The  parents  went  on.  They  won  their  way 
at  last. 

Then  the  Hindus  were  triumphant.  All  the  town 
seemed  to  know  about  it.  When  we  went  there  we  felt 
the  triumph  in  the  very  air.  "  Siva  has  conquered  ! 
Victory  to  Siva  !  "  Some  openly  said  it ;  everyone 
looked  it.  In  a  little  dark  room  in  the  heart  of  the 
town  we  tasted  the  bitterness  of  it,  slowly  drank  of  it, 
hour  after  hour.  And  yet  somehow,  though  far  cast 
down,  at  first  we  were  not  afraid.       We  thought  God 


42  The  Clan 

would  work  a  miracle.  He  sometimes  does.  To  us  this 
seemed  a  suitable  time  :  "  Wherefore  should  the  heathen 
say,  where  is  now  their  God  ?  Let  Him  be  known 
among  the  heathen  in  our  sight.  0  God,  how  long 
shall  the  adversary  reproach  ?  Shall  the  enemy  blas- 
pheme Thy  name  for  ever  ?  Why  withdrawest  Thou 
Thy  hand,  even  Thy  right  hand  ?  Pluck  it  out  of  Thy 
bosom  !  Arise,  0  God,  plead  Thine  own  cause."  But 
we  saw  no  sign  in  that  dark  little  room,  and  as  we  drove 
away  we  looked  back  upon  it  with  a  sort  of  shuddering 
horror.  We  had  seen  there,  with  the  smirch  of  his 
finger  fresh  upon  it,  the  handiwork  of  the  evil  one.  We 
had  come  into  direct  collision  with  him,  and  for  the  time 
had  been  terribly  worsted.  We  reached  home  tired  out, 
to  find  a  convert  waiting  there. 

Workers  in  hard  places  will  know  what  that  brief 
sentence  means  :  the  sudden  swing  from  depth  to  height, 
the  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  the  inrush  of  exultant 
joy,  shadowed  though  it  was,  and  had  to  be — they  will 
understand  it.  The  boy  who  had  given  himself  to  a 
new  service  at  that  open-air  meeting  could  not  go  on 
keeping  silence.  He  confessed  Christ  at  home.  But  he 
could  not  live  as  a  Christian  at  home.  He  was  forced  to 
escape  to  us.  He  had  arrived  a  few  minutes  before  we 
came. 

Immediately  the  storm  broke  round  the  mission-house. 
Crowds  of  relatives  came,  raged,  pleaded,  in  turn.  Some- 
times they  brought  one  skilled  in  speech  to  work  upon 
him,  till  one  felt,  as  one  listened,  influenced  against 
one's  will,  by  the  almost  hypnotic  effect  of  that  wonder- 
fully persuasive  oratory,  and  marvelled  at  the  strength 


Victory  to  Christ  !  43 

that  held  him  constant.  Sometimes  they  painted  the 
mother's  sufferings  so  harrowingly  that  we  to  whom  she 
was  not  mother  could  hardly  bear  it.  But  he  bore  it, 
though  only  God  knows  what  it  cost.  The  men  of  the 
Clan,  who  by  supporting  the  parents  in  their  iniquity 
concerning  the  young  girl,  were  chiefly  responsible  for  its 
result,  came  in  wrath  and  humiliation,  and  we  could  not 
help  wondering  whether  it  ever  occm'red  to  them  to 
connect  their  action  in  that  with  God's  action  in  this. 
Gladly  now  would  they  have  seen  that  insignificant 
young  girl  a  baptized  Christian  ten  times  over  rather 
than  lose  their  noble  boy. 

For  from  their  point  of  view  he  was  irretrievably  lost. 
He  broke  caste  from  the  first,  and  took  his  stand  as  an 
out-and-out  Christian,  in  a  way  which  dismayed  them, 
and  made  them  feel  the  Clan  had  been  humbled  to  the 
dust.  "  He  has  fallen  into  the  pit,  and  we  with  him  ! 
0  blind  god,  blind  god  !  "  they  cried,  "  is  it  thus  you 
requite  your  worshippers  ?  "  We  heard  no  more  of 
victory  to  Siva. 

Suddenly  this  bright  boy  died.  We  were  from  home 
at  the  time,  and  when  we  heard  the  news  it  seemed  to 
ring  the  knell  to  all  our  hopes  for  that  special  Clan  and 
town.  Nothing  so  daunts  prospective  inquirers  as  the 
death  of  a  new  convert.  "  Join  the  Way,  and  die," 
they  say,  ignoring  the  fact  that  those  who  do  not  jom 
occasionally  die.  Death  is  the  sign  of  God's  frown. 
Were  the  people  going  to  be  able  to  think  it  was  victory 
to  Siva,  after  all  ? 

The  Christians  who  hved  in  the  little  house,  in  whose 
dark  little  room  we  waited  that  day  in  our  weakness  and 


44  The  Clan 

grief,  wrote  to  us  :  "He  died  here  ;  he  died  in  the  room 
where  you  prayed.  The  heathen  crowded  the  street,  and 
looked  in,  and  we  sang  as  he  died,  so  that  all  should 
hear,  '  Victory  to  Jesus'  name.  Victory  to  Jesus.'  He 
had  no  fear.  It  was  all  victory,  and  peace.  Many  saw 
it  and  wondered.  '  We  do  not  die  so,'  they  said ;  and 
with  great  astonishment  they  watched  us,  and  listened." 

Then  indeed  it  seemed  to  us  that  in  each  detail 
and  incident  a  Divine  coincident  lay.  Had  not  God 
purposely  chosen  the  place  of  our  defeat  to  be  the  place 
where  He  should  show  forth  His  triumph  over  the  last 
enemy  to  be  destroyed  ?  Had  not  even  that  very  room 
come  into  His  remembrance  ?  The  thought  of  it  was 
good  now.  It  had  become  a  porch  into  the  Presence 
chamber.  The  influence  of  that  victorious  death  still 
works  in  the  town.  It  is  an  argument  none  can  con- 
trovert for  the  truth  of  our  holy  religion  and  the  keeping 
power  of  God. 

This  alone  would  have  been  much.  There  is  more  to 
tell.  We  feared  for  the  town,  because  we  have  often 
noticed  that  if  a  town,  knowing  what  it  is  doing,  shuts 
its  doors  and  bars  its  windows  to  the  breath  of  the 
Spirit,  there  is  a  withdrawal.  The  Spirit  does  not  force 
an  entrance.  The  town  seems  left.  But  to  the  glory  of 
God  we  tell  it,  that  town  has  stood  out  as  an  exception. 
From  the  day  the  people  claimed  victory  for  Siva,  the 
town  has  never  been  for  long  without  a  seeker  after 
truth.  First  from  the  most  opposing  Clan  another  was 
won,  and  another.  Then  to  the  heart  of  things  the  Spirit 
passed,  and  touched  one  connected  with  Temple-service. 
Then  back  to  the  indignant  Clan,  and  another  was  drawn 


"Thine  is  the  Kingdom"  45 

out.  The  next  came  from  a  hamlet  dependency.  The 
next  from  the  Clan  again.  And  looking  widely  over  His 
work  it  appears  that  He  has  most  markedly  worked  in 
that  special  Clan  which,  whether  in  village  or  in  town, 
is  most  strong  in  opposition. 

"  When  Christianity  assumes  an  aggressive  attitude," 
wrote  George  Bo  wen,  "  the  first  result  is  a  great  exhibi- 
tion of  Satanic  power.  Satan's  power  to  be  manifested 
must  be  assaulted.  There  must  necessarily  be  a  com- 
plete exhibition  of  Satan's  power  before  there  can  be  a 
complete  revelation  of  the  power  of  Christ.  This  last  is 
the  second  result  of  Christian  aggression.  It  is  by  what 
He  conquers  that  Christ's  power  is  to  be  discovered." 

It  is  true  that  the  little  town  as  a  whole,  and  especially 
its  leading  Clan,  oppose  as  much  as  ever.  There  has 
been  no  general  movement.  Souls  are  saved  one  by  one. 
May  the  day  soon  come  when,  by  some  great  wave  of 
irresistible  Omnipotence,  those  who  of  all  the  world's 
peoples  are  hardest  to  win,  will  be  swept  into  the  kingdom 
of  God's  dear  Son  !  Nothing  less  will  effectually  deal 
with  Islam  and  with  caste  ;  our  work  is  only  the  under- 
mining of  the  walls  of  the  ancient  fortress  of  lies,  that 
when  at  last  the  wave  breaks  on  the  shore,  there  may 
be  the  less  to  withstand  it ;  till  then  may  God  keep  us 
patient,  "  henceforth  expecting."  But  even  now  as  we 
look  through  the  years  to  that  day  when  we  felt  so 
heavy-laden,  to  that  room  where  we  saw  not  our  signs, 
to  that  Clan  of  strong  antipathies,  to  that  town  unshaken 
in  its  certainty  of  victory  to  Siva,  and  then  turn,  and 
look  humbly  but  thankfully  at  what  has  happened  since, 
can  we  fail  to  see  and  appropriate  God's  Overweight  of 


46  The  Clan 

Joy  ?     "  It  is  by  what  He  conquers  that  Christ's  power 
is  to  be  discovered." 

"  Now  thanks  be  unto  God  which  giveth  us  the  victory 
through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  !  "  Oh  to  be  more  and 
more  "  steadfast,  immovable,  always  abounding  in  the  work 
of  the  Lord,  forasmuch  as  we  know  that  our  labour  is  not 
in  vain  in  the  Lord." 


CHAPTEE   YIII 
The  Clue 

OF  all  tlie  people  we  had  met  in  six  or  seven  years' 
continuous  itinerating  work,  none  had  drawn  us 
more  to  pray,  or  followed  us  more  persistently 
through  those  fugitive  half-resemblances  which  so  often 
suggested  remembrance,  than  the  secluded  women  of  the 
Fort.  But  the  conversion  of  a  Fort  woman  still  seems 
distant. 

The  genesis  of  anything  is  interesting.  According  to 
the  folklore  of  the  place,  the  Fort's  story  is  briefly  this  : 

Over  eight  hundred  years  ago  it  is  said  that  two  sisters 
and  their  retainers  in  journeying  south  quarrelled  while 
fording  the  river  which  flows  by  the  town  near  which 
the  Fort  is  built.  One  sister  held  that  convenience  should 
rule  in  crossing  rivers  ;  and  she  marched  straight  through 
the  stream  holding  her  garments  so  that  they  should  not 
get  wet.  The  other  insisted  that  custom  should  ever  be 
observed  ;  and  she  let  her  garments  trail  in  the  water. 

The  straw  became  a  pillar,  as  the  Tamils  say ;  the 
two  sisters  and  their  adherents  parted  never  to  meet 
again.  The  independent-minded  sister  travelled  further 
and  founded  a  township.  The  other  stopped^near  the 
river,  built  a  wall  a  mile  in  circumference,  fifteen  feet  high 

47 


48  The  Clue 

and  six  feet  thick,  pierced  with  four  doors  iron  bossed 
and  fitted  with  huge  locks.  Within  this  wall  it  was 
then  ordained  the  women  folk  of  that  Clan  must  dwell 
in  absolute  seclusion.  No  woman  born  within  should  ever 
go  out  ahve.  No  man  born  without  should  ever  come 
in.  Till  they  were  eight  or  nine  years  old,  the  Fort's  little 
girls  might  play  freely  in  the  open  enclosure  within  the 
wall.  After  that  age  was  passed  they  must  live  indoors. 
Once,  a  child,  attracted  by  the  sound  of  a  procession 
passing  through  the  street  beyond  the  wall,  ran  out  of 
her  house,  up  to  the  wall,  where  the  door  stood  open 
invitingly.  And  she  looked  out.  Someone  had  seen 
her  and  followed.  She  was  pulled  in,  and  the  people 
say  she  was  instantly  sawn  asunder,  and  buried  beside 
the  door.     Since  then  that  door  has  been  locked. 

Once  that  great  man,  the  Governor  of  the  Province, 
rode  up  in  state  to  the  locked  door  and  asked  to  be 
admitted.  He  was  refused,  and  rode  off  with  his  suite. 
"  If  any  of  them,"  writes  an  I.C.S.  friend,  "  gets  into 
trouble,  all  you  can  do  is  to  knock  at  the  door  and  say 
he  is  wanted  ;  and  his  friends  hand  him  out  to  you. 
We  have  never  known  a  case  which  would  justify  us 
in  violating  their  scruples  to  the  extent  of  forcing  an 
entrance."  The  people  to  this  day  tell  with  relish  the 
story  of  the  Governor  who  turned  back  from  the  locked 
door.  You  can  see  their  appreciation  of  the  courtesy 
which  respected  their  tradition,  but  overtopping  that  is 
pride  in  their  glorious  grooviness.  "  We  are  the  People 
of  the  Fort." 

But  the  Fort's  existence  has  been  jeopardised  by  certain 
of  its  laws.     "  Their  treatment  of  the  ladies  is  not,  as 


Coffined  49 

may  be  imagined,  conducive  to  the  longevity  of  that 
sex,"  is  the  laconic  observation  of  the  Civil  Servant 
before  quoted.  One  law  enacted  that  no  family  might 
possess  more  than  one  daughter.  This  law  has  been 
repealed,  but  its  long  observance  has  denuded  the  Clan. 

So  these  people  have  Hved  their  lives  for  many 
generations,  unaffected  by  the  changes  in  the  world 
outside  their  wall.  India  may  pass  from  hand  to 
hand.  What  does  that  matter  to  the  people  of  the 
Fort  ?  Storms  and  calms  are  nothing  to  the  fossil  in 
the  rock.  It  may  appear  incredible  to  the  strong 
commonsense  of  the  West  that  the  will  should  close  on 
its  purpose  to  bury  its  o^vner  aUve.  In  the  East  such 
things  are  not  strange.  The  corpse  is  content  in  its 
coffin.  That  is  the  pity  of  it.  But  the  coffin  lid  has 
smothered  any  sigh  that  may  ever  have  risen,  the  world 
so  close  outside  has  never  seen  through  that  coffin  lid, 
where  the  thing  that  was  not  a  corpse  may  have  moved. 
That  is  the  tragedy  of  it. 

After  their  altercation,  the  two  branches  of  the  Clan 
naturally  fell  apart,  and  considered  themselves  foes. 
No  intermarriage  was  permitted.  They  were  as  two 
separate  castes.  The  sister's  descendants  who  settled 
outside  increased  and  spread  to  a  neighbouring  town. 
"  And  it  is  affirmed  that  the  characteristic  shown  by  the 
sister  at  the  ford,  who  dared  to  act  as  she  chose  apart 
from  the  rules  of  etiquette,  still  Hngers  in  the  family, 
for  the  women  are  brave  and  independent  of  spirit,  and 
their  men  are  very  bold  "  :  so  reads  the  Tamil  manuscript 
from  which  the  story  comes,  and  ends. 

For  a  moment  I  saw  nothing,  and  put  the  paper  down  ; 
4 


50  The  Clue 

then  suddenly  I  understood,  caught  at  the  fleeting  float- 
ing clue  that  had  eluded  me  so  long,  knew  why  that  first 
Fort  woman's  face  had  followed  nie  through  all  the 
years ;  knew  too  how  prayer  had  wrought  when  it 
seemed  as  though  it  had  fallen  as  the  very  foam  of  the 
spray  beaten  back  by  the  great  sea-wall. 

The  family  famed  for  audacity  and  defiance  of  public 
opinion  live  eight  thousand  strong  in  the  town  where  we 
held  that  ever-remembered  open-air  meeting  by  the  well. 
Star  and  her  cousin,  the  boy  who  bore  glorious  witness  in 
his  death,  belonged  to  that  special  Clan.  The  town 
in  which  such  battles  were  fought  and  in  which  the 
Spirit  has  wrought  in  power,  proving  Christ  and  not 
Siva  reigns,  is  peopled  by  the  same  family,  twin  Clan  to 
the  Clan  of  the  Fort. 

"  True  prayer,"  says  Westcott  in  his  note  on  Hebrews 
V.  7,  "  the  prayer  which  must  be  answered,  is  the  per- 
sonal recognition  and  acceptance  of  the  Divine  will.  It 
follows  that  the  hearing  of  prayer  ...  is  not  so  much 
the  granting  of  a  specific  petition  which  is  assumed  by 
the  petitioner  to  be  the  way  to  the  end  desired,  but  the 
assurance  that  what  is  granted  does  most  effectively  lead 
to  the  end." 

Often  the  answer  to  our  prayer  comes  as  it  were 
obliquely.  We  pray  for  one,  and  the  prayed-for  one 
goes  on  apparently  unimpressed.  But  the  prayer,  if 
one  may  put  it  so,  glances  off  the  soul  that  has  hard- 
ened itself,  and  falls  like  a  shower  on  another,  and  that 
soul  responds  like  a  watered  garden,  and  blossoms  out 
in  flower.  Or  where,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Fort,  and 
perhaps  more  often  than  we  know,  ignorance  rather  than 


Look  Up  51 

wilful  refusal  shuts  of?  the  fall  of  the  showers  for  a 
while,  the  answer  may  be  delayed,  and  we  may  count 
the  time  a  void  ;  not  seeing  that  what  is  granted  -  does 
most  effectively  lead  to  the  end  which  is  our  heart's 
desire.  But  if,  not  seeing  any  light,  we  listen  in  still- 
ness, we  hear  God  say  :  "  Fear  not,  look  up,  for  My  love 
works  now,  even  before  it  is  given  full  scope.  See,  I 
am  filling  the  interval  w^th  shining  answers  to  those 
prayers.  Look  and  see  them,  star-Uke,  strewn  across 
the  places  you  thought  were  void.  There  are  no  empty 
places  here.     Look  up,  and  praise." 


CHAPTER  IX 
The  Shah  Najaf 

IF  there  is  one  tiling  more  than  another  which 
the  average  EngUshman  abhors,  that  thing  is  cant. 
We  all  agree  about  it.  It  is  detestable.  The 
man  of  the  world,  so  called,  keeps  clear  of  it  alto- 
gether. Are  we  who  professedly  belong  to  another 
world  quite  so  clear  ?  For  example,  we  sincerely  re- 
joice over  stories  of  success  from  this  and  that  quarter 
of  the  globe.  But  does  it  very  much  trouble  us 
that  Asia  as  a  whole  is  practically  an  unconquered 
fort? 

If  it  does  trouble  us,  how  much  does  it  trouble  us  ? 
How  much  are  we  prepared  to  sacrifice  to  win  that  fort  ? 
Missionaries  at  home  on  furlough  are  sometimes  keenly 
disappointed  in  what  is  called  an  interest  in  missions. 
In  some  places  it  seems  as  if  this  same  "  interest  "  were 
treated  as  a  sort  of  decorative  afterthought  to  the  other- 
wise quite  complete  church  life.  An  absence  of  news 
(good  news)  from  the  front,  and  there  is  a  perceptible 
cooling  off  ;  an  honest  story  of  defeat  is  told,  and  discour- 
agement results.  And  yet  we  all  profess  to  be  soldiers, 
with  a  soldier's  conscience  about  obedience  and  a  soldier's 
courage  in  tackling  the  difficult.       To  the  onlooker,  at 

52 


In  the  Shah  Najaf.     Type  Xo.  1.     The  Brahman. 


"Discouraging"  53 

least,  it  must  sometimes  seem  that  we  are  not  in  very 
burning  earnest  about  our  soldiership.  And  if  we  call 
ourselves  soldiers,  and  sing,  and  pray,  and  talk  on  these 
lines,  and  yet  are  not  in  burning  earnest,  is  it  not  possible 
that  the  thing  we  all  agree  to  dislike  is  resident  among 
us? 

The  fact  is  irrefutable,  and  the  sooner  we  face  it  the 
better,  that  certain  fields  are  "  discouraging,"  to  quote  the 
poor  broken-backed  word  in  use  in  such  connections. 
Yet  history  is  full  of  stories  which  rebuke  the  limp-souled 
courage  based  on  prospects  of  an  easy  victory.  We 
often  recall  these  stories.  One  concerns  the  Shah  Najaf 
in  the  days  of  the  Indian  mutiny. 

The  Shah  Najaf  was  a  tomb  enclosed  by  masonry 
loopholed  walls  twenty-five  feet  high.  Lord  Roberts  de- 
scribes its  assault  and  capture  in  his  Forty -one  Years 
in  India.  He  says  it  was  almost  concealed  in  dense 
jungle,  so  that  its  strength  was  unsuspected  till  ap- 
proached. The  troops  were  marching  to  the  relief  of 
Lucknow.  They  could  not  leave  the  fort  unconquered 
in  their  rear.  The  artillery,  a  battalion  of  detachments, 
fresh  infantry,  attacked  in  succession.  They  fell  back, 
riddled  by  the  deadly  fire  from  the  fort.  Our  guns  were 
only  a  few  yards  distant,  but  they  produced  no  impres- 
sion. The  enemy,  encouraged  by  success,  grew  bolder. 
The  one  hope  of  the  Httle  British  army  fighting  against 
30,000  desperate  mutineers  was  to  continue  to  advance 
at  all  hazards.  Sir  Colin  Campbell  led  his  men  straight 
to  the  walls.  The  narrow  path  through  the  jungle  was 
choked  with  wounded  officers  and  dead  and  struggling 
horses.     No  breach  in  the  walls  could  be  found.     The 


54  The  Shah  Najaf 

men  had  no  scaling  ladders.  Passion,  tumult,  solid 
dogged  steadfastness,  lives  wrecked  upon  a  purpose  hardly 
to  be  achieved,  the  hot  night  closing  down,  the  foe  all 
round,  for  all  the  North  was  a  foe  :  see  it,  and  you  see 
stress  and  strain  past  telling,  cause  for  immense  dis- 
couragement. 

We  have  our  Shah  Najaf.  This  ancient  and  highly 
developed  creed  is  a  tomb.  The  word  suggests  decadence, 
but  a  tomb  may  be  strongly  fortified,  with  a  strength 
concealed  till  approached.  We  make  little  headway  in 
our  assault.  The  enemy  is  upon  us.  We  cannot  fight 
at  night.  The  enemy  sees  this,  knows  with  an  accurate 
knowledge  we  do  not  possess  what  the  odds  against  us 
are.  And  so,  except  in  moments  of  panic,  he  is  not 
afraid  of  us. 

The  critic  of  missions  sees  all  this,  and,  marvelling  at 
our  madness  in  prolonging  the  unequal  struggle,  he 
tries  to  show  us  how  very  unequal  it  is.  He  laughs 
at  what  he  calls  our  "  inflated  reports,"  and  calmly 
sits  down  to  calculate.  So  much  expenditure  all  told, 
with  its  present  net  result.  So  much  money,  so  many 
men,  devoted  to  the  winning  of  those  who  are  confessedly 
hardest  to  win,  with  exactly  what  success.  The  walls  of 
the  Shah  Najaf,  he  proves,  are  not  even  slightly  cracked. 
But  why  should  his  sums  disturb  us  so  ?  It  is  true 
that  he  omitted  to  tabulate  results  among  peoples  less 
strongly  entrenched.  He  knew  that  these  results  are 
already  familiar  to  students  of  missionary  literature. 
Heaven's  statistics  were  out  of  his  reach,  and  possibly  he 
may  have  forgotten  the  existence  of  the  factor.  Is  his 
product  therefore  entirely  wrong  ?     Why  should  he  for 


"Great  is  the  Truth"  55 

his  candour's  sake  be  considered  unpleasant,  almost 
profane,  a  pricking  brier  and  a  grieving  thorn  in  the 
sensitive  missionary  body  ?  Perhaps  there  is  some  truth 
in  what  he  says.  We  do  not  want  to  be  either 
optimistic  or  pessimistic,  but  just  true.  Said  the  wise 
Zerubbabel,  "  Great  is  the  Truth  and  stronger  than  all 
things,"  and  proved  his  proposition.  And  all  the  people 
shouted,  "  Great  is  the  Truth  and  mighty  above  all 
things."  "  Truth  beareth  away  the  victory."  If  there  is 
a  possible  particle  of  truth  in  the  critic's  remarks  should 
we  not  set  to,  and  search  it  out,  and  honour  it  when  we 
find  it  ? 

We  should,  and  we  will,  say  an  increasing  number  of 
mission-loving  men  and  women  at  home,  and  missionaries 
abroad  ;  but  some  still  fear,  knowing  human  nature  well, 
lest  subscriptions  should  be  lost  and  candidates  deterred 
by  a  too  detailed  account  of  what  is  called  "  the  dark 
side  "  of  things.  But  surely  God's  silver  and  gold  should 
not  have  to  be  dragged  out  of  Christian  pockets  by  force 
of  tales  of  victory.  It  should  be  enough  to  know  that 
the  King  requires  the  money  for  the  prosecution  of  His 
wars.  Our  unselfish  friends  the  collectors  should  not 
have  to  dread  lest  an  inconvenient  escape  of  facts 
make  their  hard  work  harder.  And  as  for  the  mission- 
ary candidates,  if  the  knowledge  that  the  battle  is  not 
nearly  won  yet  deters  them  in  the  least,  let  them  be 
deterred.  The  hind  of  candidate  wanted  will  not  he 
deterred.  What  we  need  is  more  common  honesty, 
God  listens  to  our  v/ords  however  expressed,  strips  them 
bare  of  accessories,  musical  or  devotional,  peels  of!  all  the 
emotion  ;  searches  through  for  the  pith  at  their  heart. 


56  The  Shah  Najaf 

caring  just  for  the  white  thread  of  Truth.  If  we  are,  as 
we  declare  we  are,  not  our  own  but  wholly  Another's, 
feeling  will  not  affect  duty  either  way. 

The  reports  from  the  most  hotly  contested  fields 
contain  serious  facts.  A  South  Indian  missionary 
lately  wrote,  that  if  our  estimate  of  the  progress  made 
during  the  past  twenty  years  in  a  certain  Indian  city 
were  correct,  we  must  admit  that  the  Gospel  we  have 
been  teaching  does  not  appear  to  have  had  very  much 
power  in  view  of  all  that  has  been  done.  "  We  might 
well  ask  ourselves  whether  we  really  are  preaching  the 
Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ  as  He  means  we  should."  The 
weapons  of  our  warfare  are  mighty  through  God  to  the 
pulling  down  of  strongholds.  Why  are  they  not  oftener 
pulled  down  ? 

The  soldiers  before  the  Shah  Najaf  were  repulsed 
till  further  attack  seemed  suicide.  Then  the  tide  of 
victory  turned.  Two  men,  searching  along  the  wall, 
discovered  a  single  opening,  looked  through,  climbed 
through.  They  found  the  foe  flying  from  the  Shah 
Najaf. 

We  have  the  promise  of  triumph.  The  fortress  of 
the  high  fort  of  those  walls  of  creed  and  caste  shall 
God  bring  down,  lay  low,  and  bring  to  the  ground, 
even  to  the  dust.  We  beUeve  in  God,  Jehovah  is  His 
Name  :  that  strengtheneth  the  spoiled  against  the  strong, 
so  that  the  spoiled  shall  come  against  the  fortress.  We 
have  no  right  to  be  discouraged. 

But,  are  we  soldiers  after  all  ?  What  those  soldiers 
could  not  tolerate,  rushed  on  death  rather  than  tolerate, 
we   tolerate   comfortably  ;    thankful  that  things   are  no 


Louise  Benedict  Pierson  57 

worse  than  they  are.  Where  is  our  enthusiasm  for  the 
kingdom  of  our  Lord  ?  If  enthusiasm  is  love  on  fire, 
Vvhcre,  then,  is  our  love  ?  Do  we  count  our  lives  too 
clear  unto  us  to  risk  them  under  loopholed  walls  ?  Is 
Christ's  battahon  the  only  one  in  which  it  is  counted 
too  much  to  die  ?  We  would  not  conceal  it,  it  does 
mean  death.  Reputation  for  soul-winning  power  dies 
under  the  walls  of  the  Shah  Najaf.  All  that  the  "  I  " 
in  us  loves  should  hve,  is  sentenced  to  death  at  the 
Shah  Najaf.  "  Except  it  fall  into  the  ground  and  die  " 
— the  law  of  the  seed  is  the  soldier's  law.  "  There  is 
no  gain  except  by  loss,  there  is  no  life  except  by  death. 
.  .  .  And  that  eternal  Passion  saith,  '  Be  emptied  of 
glory  and  right  and  name.'  " 

One  more  look :  look  at  the  two,  solitary  for  the 
moment,  as  they  search  along  that  wall.  They  have 
found  the  gap,  they  are  climbing  through  it  into  the 
fort :  are  they  solitary  now  ?  No  !  for  the  Highlanders 
close  behind,  each  man  keen  to  be  first  to  go  through, 
needing  no  urging.  Then  look  again  at  the  other  wall, 
at  the  few  who  are  searching  for  the  gap.  Say,  when 
your  comrades  find  the  gap  will  they  have  to  go  in 
alone  ? 

Do  we  press  all  to  come  and  join  in  the  storming  of 
the  Shah  Najaf  ?  For  answer,  we  quote  words  written 
in  one  of  her  last  letters,  by  an  Indian  missionary, 
Louise  Benedict  Pierson,  who  received  the  victor's  palm 
on  the  battlefield.  It  is  a  warrior's  message  to  a  brother, 
a  comrade  to  be  : 

"  I  write  words  for  you  to  ponder  and  pray  over.  Do 
not  go  to   any  foreign  field   until    you   know   beyond  a 


58  The  Shah  Najaf 

doubt  tliat  God  has  Himself  sent  you  to  that  particular 
field  at  that  particular  time.  There  is  a  romance  or 
halo  about  being  a  missionary  which  disappears  when 
you  get  on  the  field.,  I  assure  you.  And,  beHeve  me, 
from  the  first  moment  you  step  upon  shipboard  upon 
your  way  to  the  field,  the  devil  and  all  his  agents 
will  attack,  and  entice,  and  ensnare  you,  or  try  to  do 
all  these,  in  order  to  defeat  the  purpose  for  which  you 
cut  loose  and  launched  out.  Nothing  but  the  fulness 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  will  carry  anyone  through  ;  and  if 
you  do  not  know  that  you  have  received  this,  do  not 
fail  to  obey  the  command  to  '  tarry  until  you  be  endued 
with  power  from  on  high.' 

"  Believe  me,  the  foreign  field  is  already  full  enough 
of  prophets  that  have  run,  and  He  did  not  send 
them.  If  you  know  beyond  a  doubt  —  and  you 
may  —  that  God  is  empowering  and  sending  you 
there,  and  now,  go  and  fear  not ;  and  when,  through 
the  days,  months,  and  years  of  suffering,  that  are  sure 
to  be  in  this  cross-bearing  life,  the  question  arises  again 
and  again,  '  Why  is  this  ?  Am  I  in  God's  plan  and 
path  ?  '  the  rock  to  which  you  will  hold  in  this  sea  of 
questionings  and  distresses  is,  '  God  sent  me  here,  I 
know  beyond  a  doubt ;  therefore  I  may  go  on  fearing 
nothing,  for  He  is  responsible,  and  He  alone.'  But  if 
you  have  to  admit,  '  I  do  not  know  whether  He  sent 
me  or  not,'  you  will  be  thrown  into  an  awful  distress 
of  mind  by  the  attacks  of  the  great  adversary,  not  know- 
ing what  will  be  the  outcome,  and  you  will  find  yourself 
crying  out,  '  Oh  that  it  were  time  to  go  home.  What 
a  fool  I  was  to  run  ahead  of  the  Lord.'     Do  not  think. 


X    ^ 


Louise  Benedict  Pierson  59 

my  brother,  that  God  sends  us  to  the  field  sweetly  to 
tell  the  story  of  Jesus,  and  that  is  all.  He  sends  us 
there  to  do  what  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  do — to 
bear  the  cross.  But  we  will  be  able  to  trudge  on, 
though  bowed  under  the  weight  of  that  cross  of  suffering, 
and  even  of  shame,  if  our  hearts  are  full  of  Him, 
and  our  eyes  are  ever  looking  upon  the  One  who  is 
invisible,  the  One  who  sent  us  forth,  and  therefore  will 
carry  us  through. 

"  Forgive  me  for  writing  thus  plainly.  I  pray  that 
this  message  may  shake  in  you  all  that  can  be  shaken, 
that  that  which  cannot  be  shaken  may  remain  firm  as 
the  Rock  of  Ages." 


CHAPTER   X 
*< Follow  the  Gleam" 

DR.  HORTON,  in  his  Life  of  Tennyson,  explains  the 
Gleam  to  be  that  elusive  truth  or  beauty  which 
it  is  the  function  of  the  poet  to  seize  and  ex- 
press. The  poet's  life  must  ever  be  a  following  of  the 
Gleam. 

To  the  missionary  the  Gleam  is  the  joy  set  before 
him,  the  glory  of  his  Master  in  the  winning  of  souls. 
His  whole  life,  if  he  is  true,  has  for  its  motto,  "  Follow  the 
Gleam." 

The  rough  battle  view  of  things  seen  at  the  Shah 
Najaf  sometimes  tires.  There  are  days  when  we  want 
something  less  fierce.  The  noise  of  the  shouting,  the 
clash  of  creed  on  creed  ceases,  "  quenched  with  quiet " 
at  the  passing  of  the  Gleam. 

The  besetting  sin  of  Evangehstic  work  is  slackness. 
Our  colleagues  on  the  Educational  side  have  certain 
incentives  which  we  have  not.  The  result  is  apparent. 
If  you  want  to  see  Duty  spelt  with  a  capital  letter, 
go  to  a  well- worked  mission  school.  Such  a  visit  is  a 
tonic. 

Another  tonic  is  to  be  found  in  the  other  wing,  the 
Medical.     There  you  can  study  the  opposite  of  your  own 

60 


Neyoor  6 1 

defect,  for  a  medical  mission  is  nothing  if  it  is  not 
thorough.  The  punishment  for  slovenly  work  is  sure 
and  swift  in  the  Medical  as  in  the  Educational.  Only 
the  thorough  succeeds.  In  our  Evangelistic  work  it  is 
somewhat  different.  The  result  of  a  slack  hour  does  not 
show  at  once.  The  stain  it  leaves  on  the  conscience,  the 
absence  of  something  that  might  have  been  wrought  in 
another  soul,  these  are  symptoms  of  decline  often  invis- 
ible to  our  eyes.  Only  God  and  the  sorrowful  Angels 
read  them  aright  from  the  first. 

As  things  are,  then,  it  is  good  sometimes  to  break 
away  from  one's  own  sphere  and  go  into  another  for  a 
while.  It  helps  to  ensure  against  mental  cramp.  It 
draws  the  lowered  standard  up,  and  gives  one  a  salutary 
shake.  And  because  the  Gleam  is  the  same  for  Educa- 
tional, Medical,  and  Evangelistic,  one  finds  oneself 
still  in  one's  own  world  with  much  to  learn  in  every 
direction. 

A  near  medical  mission  to  us  is  the  London  Mission- 
ary Society's  hospital  at  Neyoor,  South  Travancore, 
distant  thirty-five  miles.  If  one  has  a  change  of  bulls, 
and  spends  much  energy  in  hurrying  them  on,  one 
may  cover  the  distance  in  about  the  time  it  takes  to 
reach  Dublin  from  London.  Our  people  from  all  over 
the  district  constantly  travel  to  the  Neyoor  hospital,  for 
in  our  C.M.S.  Mission  here  we  have  no  medical  work, 
and  the  people  often  feel  the  need  of  the  help  the  Neyoor 
hospital  gives. 

My  introduction  to  Neyoor  shows  a  side  of  medical 
mission  work  upon  which  the  Mission  Report  naturally 
does  not  dilate,  it  being  only  one  of  the  little  byways  of 


62  "Follow  the  Gleam" 

kindness  familiar  to  Medicals  everywhere,  but  it  may  be 
worth  while  telling  it.  We  had  an  epidemic  of  oph- 
thalmia in  the  village.  Every  morning  a  succession  of 
suffering  infants  were  brought  to  be  attended  to.  Just 
when  they  were  all  beginning  to  mend,  the  trouble  came 
to  me.  I  thought  nothing  of  it  at  first — it  is  a  most 
common  thing  in  India  (the  children  immediately  gave 
me  the  verse,  "  In  all  things  it  behoved  Him  to  be  made 
like  unto  His  brethren  ") — but  it  soon  forced  one  to  think 
of  it.  Simple  means  failed.  Help  was  sought  from  Palam- 
cottah,  but  the  Government  doctor  was  miles  away  and 
could  not  come.  We  were  reluctant  to  appeal  to  the 
overworked  medical  missionaries,  but  at  last  Mr.  Walker 
telegraphed.  Straight  from  the  midst  of  what  we  after- 
wards knew  was  an  abnormally  heavy  pressure  of  work, 
one  of  the  two  doctors  stationed  at  Neyoor  cycled 
out  to  us.  That  same  night,  as  the  blessed  ease  of 
respite  from  pain  was  felt,  how  I  wished  for  a  voice 
that  would  reach  far  to  speak  a  clear  word  for  medical 
missions  ! 

The  Neyoor  hospital  has  thrown  out  offshoots  into  the 
fortunate  surrounding  country.  One  of  these  is  a  truly 
wonderful  little  place.  It  is  a  complete  little  hospital 
run  on  Western  Hnes  by  an  Indian  medical  evan- 
gelist. There  you  have  the  science  of  the  West  at  work, 
with  the  touch  of  the  East  upon  it. 

When  you  wander  round  the  Neyoor  hospital,  you  see 
the  East  and  West  again  in  delightfully  close  company. 
Each  patient  has  a  friend  or  friends,  and  each  of  these 
seems  to  have  friends.  The  result  may  not  make  for  hos- 
pital discipline,  but  from  a  missionary  view-point  nothing 


From  a  lay  Point  of  View  63 

could  be  more  satisfactory.  The  kitchen  system  is  as 
Indian  as  possible.  The  kitchens  look  Hke  caves  yawn- 
ing on  the  face  of  a  cHS,  for  they  open  of?  a  blank  wall 
with  a  steep  back-slanting  roof  ;  each  caste  has  its  own 
cave.  Facing  the  wards  and  hospital  buildings  which 
run  round  the  compound,  Indian  fashion,  there  is  what 
looks  like  a  neat  Httle  house,  built  of  stone  on  a  stone 
platform,  with  a  high-pitched  red-tiled  roof.  This  is  the 
operation  room,  the  heart  of  the  place. 

To  the  lay  mind,  and  most  of  us  are  only  lay,  the 
sound  of  the  word  "  operation "  suggests  something 
sinister,  and  the  operation  table  is  a  thing  we  prefer 
to  forget.  I  was  looking,  half  attracted,  half  repelled, 
at  the  various  contrivances  and  instruments,  when  a 
shuffling  noise  proclaimed  an  arrival,  and  an  old  man, 
a  cataract  case,  was  helped  up  the  steps,  and  into  the 
room,  and  on  to  the  table.  Then  I  realised  that  my 
feelings  were  wholly  those  of  aversion.  The  little  knives 
that  were  waiting  in  a  bath  of  solution  looked  cruel. 
They  were  waiting  for  that  poor  old  man. 

"  Doctors  revel  in  operations :  I  wonder  if  they 
remember  that  their  victims  are  not  equally  inured. 
I  wonder  if  they  think  of  bodies  as  if  they  were  cases 
without  feelings  "  : — these  were  the  thoughts  that  came 
at  that  moment,  quite  irrespective  of  reason.  "  He's 
nervous,"  said  the  doctor,  who  was  vigorously  scrubbing 
his  hands.  "  You  might  talk  to  him  :  tell  him  it  won't 
hurt."     Some  questions  are  quickly  answered. 

The  patient  was  a  thin  old  man.  He  lay  like  a  corpse, 
with  a  quilt  for  a  shroud,  his  blind  eyes  staring  straight 
up,  his  lips  tense.       He  was  a  Hindu  from  our  district, 


64  ''Follow  the  Gleam" 

I  found.  The  home  voice  seemed  to  reassure  him.  He 
lay  more  naturally. 

There  was  prayer  for  a  successful  issue.  The  merciful 
cocaine  had  done  its  work.  The  eye  was  ready.  The 
doctor  began. 

Being  so  very  lay,  we  found  our  chief  interest  in 
the  human  element  rather  than  the  surgical,  and  stood 
a  little  aside  watching  the  faces  of  the  two  or  three 
concerned.  There  was  something  fascinating  in  their 
absorption,  something  inspiring  too.  And  the  sense  of 
the  barbarous  wholly  passed  as  a  figment  of  gross 
ignorance.  It  was  one  man  trying  to  help  another, 
bending  all  his  skill  upon  him,  and  all  in  the  way  of 
following  the  Gleam. 

I  had  been  through  the  wards,  had  talked  with  the 
people  in  bed  and  on  the  floor,  for  the  hospital  had 
overflowed  its  beds,  and  some  had  mats  on  the  floor. 
Then  I  had  mingled  in  the  crowd  of  impotent  folk  in 
the  outer  hall,  men  and  women  of  all  castes  and  condi- 
tions, and  I  had  visited  that  surprisingly  cheerful  place, 
the  lepers'  quarters.  There  had  been  a  mixture  of 
opposites  ;  horrible  things,  beautiful  things,  heart-breaks 
and  heart-rejoicing  things  were  jumbled  up  close  together, 
so  that  the  impression  left  upon  one's  mind  was  more 
curious  than  clear.  But  everywhere  I  had  found  one 
single  satisfying  thing,  unbounded  opportunity  to  speak 
to  people  about  Jesus  Christ.  "  After  it,  follow  it,  follow 
the  Gleam  "  might  have  been  written  all  over  the  walls. 
Some  poor  sufferers  naturally  were  too  preoccupied  to 
listen.  Some  were  too  careless.  Some  too  hard.  But 
the   greater   number   w^ere  ready,  and  a  few  were  even 


Intensity  65 

eager.  There  was  no  need  to  search  for  a  way  to  the 
heart.  The  approaches  lay  all  open.  Perhaps  one  has 
to  be  an  Evangelistic  missionary,  unaccustomed  to  find 
sympathy  ready  created,  and  affection  already  awakened, 
to  appreciate  at  its  full  value  such  an  opportunity. 

It  was  the  effect  of  an  evident  cause.  The  cause  was 
famihar  enough.  But,  standing  alongside  that  Cause  at 
work,  the  familiar  took  edge  and  point,  and  its  force 
was  felt  in  a  new  fashion.  We  reahsed  then  as  we  had 
not  before  how  much  hung  upon  how  little.  One 
infinitesimal  carelessness  as  to  surgical  cleanliness,  one 
moment's  diverted  attention,  one  swerve  of  the  knife  in 
the  doctor's  hand,  and  that  particular  door  of  access  to  a 
soul  for  whom  Christ  died  might  be  for  ever  barred.  It 
was  awesome  to  feel  that  such  a  tremendous  conse- 
quence depended  on  something  so  delicate  that  when 
you  would  define  it  exactly,  you  could  not.  Viewed 
in  this  searching  surgical  Ught,  everything  short  of  the 
most  scrupulous  attention  to  even  apparently  unimportant 
minutiae,  everything  short  of  intense  concentration,  seemed 
criminal. 

But  only  a  few  minutes  had  passed  since  the  old  man 
had  lain  down.  "  Look  !  "  said  the  doctor,  and  I  saw  the 
yellow- ochre  lens  slip  smooth  hke  a  ripe  Httle  seed  from 
its  cell.  The  doctor  held  up  his  fingers,  "  Count !  " 
And  the  old  man  counted  four.  There  was  a  moment 
of  pure  human  pleasure  then. 

Later  I  saw  that  happy  old  man.  He  had  a  room  to 
himself  where  his  friends  were  allowed  to  wait  on  him. 
He  was  peaceful,  had  no  pain,  did  not  mind  his  bandages, 
wearied  not  at  all.     To  one  who  finds  half  a  day's  idle 


66  "Follow  the  Gleam" 

captivity  pure  misery,  the  patience  of  these  people  is 
rebuking.  He  made  a  perfect  recovery,  and  it  needs 
but  a  little  imagination  to  see  him  as  he  truly  is  in  his 
distant  village  to-day,  a  contented  old  man,  an  inspirer 
of  hope  to  those  in  whose  eyes  "  the  cataract  flower  has 
fallen."  He  and  his  heard  daily  while  in  hospital  about 
the  great  Eye  Opener  for  whose  sake  that  help  was 
given.  In  his  case  the  result  is  not  known.  But  it  is 
impossible  to  believe  the  story  would  leave  no  mark 
upon  him.  And  could  there  be  a  kinder  way  of  making 
a  mark  for  Eternity  ? 

Are  any  dispirited  still,  and  still  in  perplexity  as 
to  our  v/ays  of  trying  to  win  souls  for  Jesus  Christ  ? 
May  I  say,  stop  looking  at  us.  Look  instead  at  the 
Medical  Missions.  They  are  dotted  about  from  the 
South  to  Cashmere.  Focus  upon  one  of  them,  and 
forget  discouragement  in  giving  some  practical  bit  of 
help.  Viewed  every  way,  discouragement  is  surely  a 
weak  and  cowardly  thing,  sign  of  a  spiritual  near- 
sightedness which  must  limit  one  all  round.  True  work 
can  never  die.  Let  us  believe  it  and  be  glad.  We 
have  only  one  thing  to  do  :  "  This  one  thing  I  do.  I 
press."  Let  us  press  on  all  together  in  the  missionary 
enterprise,  past  the  dull  fog  of  discouragement,  and 
through  it,  out  into  the  clear  air  where  we  can  see  The 
Gleam. 


CHAPTER  XI 
^*The  Grace  of  the  People  to  come" 

WHAT  is  the  use  of  following  the  Gleam  ?  Does  it 
lead  to  anything  definite  ?  To  which  we  would 
answer,  Follow  and  know  :  follow  and  see  that 
most  tangible  thing,  a  Christian  home  in  a  Hindu  town. 

The  mountains  which  divide  British  India  from 
Travancore  fall  into  foothills  north  of  us  ;  a  wild  track 
leading  through  them  opens  into  a  plain  \vith  another 
encircling  mountain  guard.  To  save  time  and  avoid 
heat  we  usually  travel  by  night,  but  our  bandy  man,  the 
bullock  driver,  believes  the  track  is  haunted  by  tigers 
(which,  much  to  my  disappointment,  are  always  entirely 
invisible).  So  in  a  recent  journey  we  travelled  by  day 
to  escape  the  fabulous  beasts,  and  arrived  late  in  the 
evening  at  our  destination,  a  town  in  the  northern  plain. 

The  house  to  which  we  were  bound  was  reached  at 
last^  the  warmest  of  welcomes  was  waiting  there  ;  but  it 
was  late  to  disturb  our  Indian  friends,  so  we  searched 
for  a  place  to  pitch  a  camp  cot,  and  finally  found  a 
broken-down  archway  sometimes  used  as  a  cattle-pen. 

I  had  a  young  convert  girl  with  me.  It  was  her 
first  experience  of  a  cow-house  for  a  bedroom,  and  she 
did  not  appreciate  it.     But  she  remembered  the  manger, 

67 


68     ''The  Grace  of  the  People  to  come" 

and  that  changed  the  face  of  things.  There  is  a  special 
little  joy  in  being  allowed  to  tread,  even  so  far  off,  in  the 
very  way  He  went.  Happily,  then,  we  swept  up  the 
straw,  and  piled  it  in  a  corner,  and  cleaned  up  generally, 
till  by  the  Hght  of  our  lantern  the  place  looked  pos- 
sible, and  almost  comfortable.  Soon  three  varieties  of 
human  snores  mingled  with  the  bulls'  snores,  and  five 
weary  creatures  were  at  rest.  The  bandy  man  and  cook 
boy  were  just  outside  the  passage.  They  never  stirred 
till  morning.  The  girl,  who  was  close  to  me,  slept  in  the 
same  steady  determined  fashion.  I  was  not  so  fortunate, 
for  the  sounds  around  were  persistent. 

The  archway  ended  in  a  courtyard.  Next  to  it, 
separated  only  by  a  low  mud  wall,  was  another  court- 
yard, very  much  inhabited.  Some  old  men  had  settled 
themselves  on  the  verandah  and  were  talking.  The  thin 
cracked  quavering  voices  wandered  on  in  endless  disser- 
tations upon  rupees,  annas,  pies.  I  found  myself  listening 
against  my  will,  and  got  inextricably  entangled  in  their 
financial  complications.  And  I  wondered  at  the  mental 
arithmetic  apparatus  possessed  by  such  very  old  gentle- 
men, for  they  revelled  in  the  intricate,  and  dealt  deeply 
in  fractions.  Their  manipulation  of  the  forty-eighth  part 
of  one  and  fourpence  was  a  thing  to  remember  ;  but  it 
baffled  me.  Afterwards  came  betel-nut,  the  usual  refresh- 
ment. Then  more  talk.  Suddenly  the  voices  fell  to  a 
chuckling  mumble. 

There  are  some  sounds,  like  the  squeak  of  a  slate 
pencil,  that  seem  to  convert  one  into  a  piece  of  steel 
wire  subjected  to  the  operations  of  a  leisurely  file. 
Such  a  sound  is  continuous  conversation  on  a  hot  night 


"Thou  shalt  hear  what  they  say"      69 

after  a  journey.  After  a  while  the  voices  grew  sharper, 
and  I  heard  what  wakened  every  nerve  in  me.  They 
were  discussing  a  lad  who  evidently  wanted  to  be  a 
Christian.  They  had  settled  upon  some  plan  of  action 
when  they  talked  low.  Now  having  settled  upon  it  they 
were  almost  riotous.  There  was  more  talk.  The  voices, 
ancient  as  they  were,  grew  keen  and  purposeful.  One 
could  only  pray  for  the  boy,  whoever  he  was,  as  one 
thought  of  him  sleeping  peacefully  somewhere  near,  un- 
conscious of  the  plots  they  were  weaving  round  him. 

There  was  something  uncomfortable  in  overhearing  a 
conversation  emphatically  not  meant  for  me.  However, 
I  reflected  that  I  could  not  suitably  make  myself  known 
to  those  men  just  then,  and  remembering  how  Gideon 
was  caused  to  overhear  a  conversation  once,  I  concluded 
God  had  said  "  Thou  shalt  hear  what  they  say,"  and  was 
quiet.  Next  day  I  found  out  who  the  boy  was,  a  young 
inquirer,  too  young  to  come  out  as  a  Christian.  He 
was  protected  through  all  that  followed.  The  plots  fell 
harmless.     Even  so,  even  here, 

"  Standeth  God  within  the  shadow, 
Keeping  watch  above  His  own." 

The  night  was  not  still  even  after  the  old  men 
departed.  About  midnight  someone  began  to  chant 
praises  to  Siva,  a  blind  man,  we  afterwards  found,  who 
had  vowed  to  chant  some  hundred  stanzas  twice  every 
night  throughout  his  hfe.  On  and  on  he  went  in  the 
plaintive  minor  of  India's  old  prayer-music.  While  it 
was  still  dark  before  sunrise  he  began  again,  and  this 
time  there  was  a  woman's  voice  faintly  following. 


70     "The  Grace  of  the  People  to  come" 

It  was  a  new  experience  to  lie  there  and  hear  all 
this.  And  I  felt  that  a  night  in  a  heathen  town  and 
almost  in  a  heathen  house  was  a  revealing  thing.  "  My 
principal  grief  was,  and  so  it  has  continued  to  be,  that  I 
grieved  so  very  Httle,"  said  Ragland,  years  ago. 

We  had  come  to  that  town  because  Victory,  one  of 
our  convert  girls  who  had  married  Liegeman,  one  of  Mr. 
Walker's  convert  boys,  was  in  sore  trouble  over  the 
serious  illness  of  her  little  daughter.  Up  till  then  she 
and  her  husband  had  been  spared  all  anxiety,  and  the 
peacefulness  of  that  little  home  had  been  a  thought  of 
peace  to  us,  and  a  wonder  to  the  Hindus,  who  used  one 
of  their  favourite  names  for  heaven  when  describing  it. 
As  for  Victory,  they  called  her  by  a  beautiful  name. 
One  day  an  old  ascetic,  proof  to  preaching,  came  in  to 
see  me  when  I  was  there.  "  She  is  gold,  pure  gold,"  he 
said  to  me,  pointing  to  Victory,  who  was  busy  over  her 
household  work.  And  I  found  Pure  Gold  was  her  name 
among  the  Hindu  neighbours. 

But  suddenly  the  blue  skies  clouded.  One  of  the 
most  fatal  of  tropical  diseases  had  seized  the  little  child, 
that  bright  home's  httle  joy.  She  lay  in  great  suffering 
and  most  pathetic  weakness,  knowing  only  that  she 
wanted  her  mother's  arms  to  be  always  round  her,  and 
her  mother's  face  within  reach  of  the  touch  of  her  little 
hands.  That  poor  mother  was  worn  out  with  night  and 
day  nursing  and  housework  combined,  for  the  convert 
has  no  relations  to  come  and  help  at  such  times.  The 
strain  was  almost  too  much  for  her,  and  the  Hindus 
watched  curiously.  What  would  happen  now  ?  For 
days  they  watched,  coming  constantly  to  inquire,  always 


"Great  is  Thy  Loving-Kindness"        71 

sympathetic,  but  always  on  the  alert  to  notice  what  was 
going  on.  And  through  all  the  long  trial  the  father  and 
mother  were  strengthened  to  glorify  God. 

Perhaps  what  touched  the  Hindus  most  was  a  httle 
incident  which  happened  the  day  the  child  began  to 
recover.  Upon  waking  from  a  long  refreshing  sleep  the 
white  and  red  of  an  embroidered  text  fastened  to  a  dark 
beam  in  the  ceihng  caught  her  attention,  and  she  pointed 
to  it.  Her  thankful  mother  could  hardly  see  for  the 
"  water  of  joy  "  which  filled  her  eyes,  but  she  read  the 
text  aloud  :  "  Great  is  Thy  loving-kindness  toward  me." 
To  the  reverent  Indian  mind  this  was  a  thing  which 
appealed.  The  story  was  told  all  down  the  street,  and 
opened  the  way  for  many  conversations.  "  I  will  never 
water  the  baby's  milk  ;  no,  never  again,"  said  the  milk- 
woman,  through  whose  activities  in  that  direction  the 
illness  probably  came.  And  she  kept  her  word  for  a 
fortnight. 

When  you  stay  in  such  a  home  right  among  the 
Hindus,  with  whom  as  in  the  hospital  you  are  friends 
already,  half  the  difficulties  of  itinerating  work  are  non- 
existent, and  the  other  half  are  in  abeyance.  You  are 
near  the  people,  nearer  than  in  bungalow  or  tent.  They 
let  you  into  their  lives'  inner  rooms,  and  you  see  strange 
things  there.  These  things  make  you  all  the  more 
thankful  for  the  fact  of  these  Christian  homes  scattered 
like  hght-seeds  on  the  dark  soil.  In  hours  when  the 
overwhelming  forces  of  evil  seem  wholly  in  ascendance, 
"  I  take  to  witness  the  Grace  of  the  people  to  come." 
Such  a  witness  is  worth  everything  ;  it  is  strong  with  the 
promise  of  hope. 


72     "The  Grace  of  the  People  to  come" 

Life,  with  Indian  fellow -Christians  for  one's  com- 
panions, draws  one  very  close  to  them,  and  makes  that 
Grace  a  very  shining  quahty.  One  writes  after  ex- 
perience. Of  course  there  are  bound  to  be  disappoint- 
ments. There  are  everywhere.  But  the  impress  left 
upon  me  by  a  year  of  such  life  is  a  very  loving 
impress.  I  cannot  forget  the  sympathy  when  serious 
illness  came  to  the  bungalow,  and  took  my  fellow  mis- 
sionaries away.  No  touch  is  tenderer  than  the  Indian 
touch  in  trouble.  Their  way  of  comforting  is  the  child's 
way,  the  unconscious  way  that  somehow  helps  without 
hurting.  The  patience  of  their  kindness  and  their 
fealty  are  unfailing.  To  the  Indian  missionary,  at  least, 
it  cannot  be  called  sacrifice  to  lose  one's  Enghsh  identity 
and  let  oneself  be  bound  in  the  bundle  of  life  with  one's 
Indian  brothers  and  sisters.  But  the  more  India  becomes 
home,  the  more  the  longing  burns  within  one  that  this 
land  should  be  purified,  swept  clean  from  north  to  south 
as  by  a  wave  of  fire  ;  for  if  ever  a  people  were  created 
to  be  a  crown  of  glory  and  a  royal  diadem,  surely  the 
people  of  India  Avere.  Sentiment,  some  will  say,  and 
smile.     But  to  the  one  who  writes,  it  seems  true. 

Much  that  may  be  seen  and  heard  in  ordinary  con- 
verse in  an  ordinary  Hindu  home  is  natural  and  happy. 
Convention  cannot  kill  nature.  Theoretically  the  woman 
is  nothing  and  nowhere.  Practically  she  is  by  no  means 
a  nonentity.  "  Aiyo,  Aiyo  !  it  is  a  girl !  "  the  new  baby 
is  unwelcome.  But  once  the  shock  is  over  the  baby-girl 
is  loved.  There  is  any  amount  of  noisy  quarrelhng  ;  if 
words  were  blows  half  the  population  would  be  extinct 
to-morrow.     But  on  the  other  hand,  when  you  consider 


The  real  Difference  73 

the  compound  family  system,  and  recollect  the  close 
quarters  in  which  such  variety  of  disposition  is  packed, 
you  will  be  amazed  that  so  many  people  contrive  to  exist 
in  tranquillity.  The  thing  which  in  the  main  distin- 
guishes life  in  such  a  community  from  life  in  England 
is,  that  here  any  moment  you  may  suddenly  come  upon 
Sin  sunning  itself  out  in  the  open,  all  unashamed.  And 
nobody  is  startled. 

One  afternoon  some  pleasant-faced  women,  after 
having  finished  their  household  work,  sat  down  with  me 
on  the  steps  leading  to  the  canal  where  they  drew  their 
water.  The  canal  suggested  reminiscences.  "  Yes,"  said 
one,  alluding  to  another  piece  of  water  to  which  her 
neighbour  had  referred,  "  that  tank  used  to  be  pure 
enough  to  bathe  the  god  and  goddess  in,  but  one  year  it 
dried  up,  and  they  found  it  defiled  with  bones."  Then 
she  entered  into  details,  only  understood  in  India,  which 
led  off  into  a  casual  remark  about  a  httle  girl  who  was 
ill,  and  therefore  living  with  her  father.  Why  ' '  therefore  ? ' ' 
Children  sick  or  well  usually  live  in  their  parents'  homes, 
and  I  inquired  about  her,  and  heard  this  short  true  tale  : 
Her  father  had  married  out  of  caste,  and  been  outcasted 
in  consequence,  which  caused  him  inconvenience.  So  one 
morning  his  wife  was  found  with  a  poisoned  rag  across 
her  mouth,  and  to  cut  clear  of  all  complications  the  httle 
daughter  was  sent  elsewhere.  I  had  no  need  to  ask 
where.  There  are  houses  in  Tinnevelly  town,  and  in 
every  other  Temple-town,  where  such  little  ones  are  wel- 
come. But  the  child  had  been  ill,  and  had  been  sent  home 
to  her  father,  who  would  return  her  when  she  was  well. 
Was  nothing  done  ?     What  could  be  done  ?     How  obtain 


74     "The  Grace  of  the  People  to  come" 

sufficient  proof '?  Besides,  why  concern  oneself  in 
another's  business  ?  So  the  double  crime  passed  un- 
recorded except  in  the  unsurprised  memories  of  men. 

How  one  gets  to  hate  sin  as  if  it  were  a  physical  foe 
who  could  be  throttled  to  death  if  only  he  could  be 
caught !  I  thought  of  that  little  innocent  girl  only  eight 
years  old,  a  bright  intelligent  child  they  said,  and  very 
affectionate.  Slow  crawled  the  waters  of  the  canal  hke 
a  stealthy  brown  snake  at  our  feet.  I  thought  of  the 
things  I  had  heard  had  been  done  on  its  banks.  One 
could  have  better  borne  to  see  that  child  held  under 
those  waters,  held  till  she  struggled  no  longer,  than  face 
out  what  life  might  mean  for  her. 

To  hear  about  such  a  httle  one  is  to  set  every  faculty 
to  work  to  try  to  save  her.  But  the  hands  that  hold  do 
not  lightly  let  go.  At  such  times,  when  baffled  at  every 
turn,  almost  despairing,  though  one  will  not  despair,  the 
only  thing  that  shines  is  the  Coming  of  the  Lord.  His 
Coming  will  end  all  the  wickedness.  "  When  mil  the 
evening  be  measured,  the  night  be  gone  ?  We  are  full 
of  tossings  to  and  fro  until  the  dawning  of  the  day  !  " 
"  Lord  Jesus,  take  wide  steps.  0  my  Lord,  come  over 
mountains  at  one  stride !  Oh,  if  He  would  fold  the 
heavens  together  like  an  old  cloak,  and  shovel  time 
and  days  out  of  the  way,  and  make  ready  in  haste  the 
Lamb's  wife  for  her  Husband  !  " 

How  few  want  that  to  happen  is  something  you 
realise  when  you  search  for  a  Christian  house  to  which 
you  have  been  directed  through  the  labyrinth  of  a 
Hindu  town.  India  is  awake,  the  sanguine  tell  us, 
meaning  that  some  few  or  many — the  terms  are  relative 


A  Drop;  A  Grain  75 

—of   India's   Christians   are   awake.     Supposing   all   tlie 
Christians  in  the  land  were  awake,  it  would  not  mean 
that  India  itself  had  awakened.     The  Christians  of  India 
are  not  India.     There  are  a  hundred  milhons  of  people  in 
India  to-day  who  have  never  even  heard  of  Jesus  Christ, 
and  who  as  things  are  now  have  not  the  remotest  chance 
to  hear  about  Him.     There  are  milHons  more  who  have 
heard  very  Httle,  if  anything  ;  but,  not  counting  those,  there 
are  a  hundred  milhons  who  cannot  possibly  hear.     The 
fact  is  overwhelming.     It  crushes  down  upon  us.     If  we 
could  reahse  its  full  force  for  one  single  minute  it  would 
crush  us  too  much.     It  would  break  our  hearts.     But  we 
do  not  reahse  it.     We  speak  in  a  language  we  do  not 
understand.     We  talk  of    millions.     What  are  milhons  ? 
When  we  stop  and  try  to  lay  hold  upon  the  word,  and 
make  it  open  to  us,  it  closes  up,  or  shps  away,  and  we 
catch  elusive  glimpses  of  it :  that  is  all. 

A  hundred  millions  :  no  effort  of  the  imagination 
materially  helps  us  to  grasp  that  which  is  beyond  our 
grasp.  But  look  at  this  photograpli.  Look  at  it  as 
a  whole,  and  then  in  detail.  Suppose  yourself  in  the 
midst  of  it,  in  the  thick  of  the  press,  jammed  in  by  the 
car,  with  the  glare  and  the  ghtter,  and  the  overwhelming 
heat  and  noise  beating  and  dancing  and  whirling  about 
you.  Make  yourself  slowly  apprehend  that  the  stream 
that  seems  to  stretch  so  far  is  only  the  trickhng  of  a 
drop  from  the  great  sea  of  Indian  hfe  ;  the  mass  that 
moves  as  a  huge  whole  is  hardly  as  a  grain  of  dust  from 
the  heap  of  the  population.  How  vast  the  sea,  how 
immense  the  heap  must  be  ! 

But  alone  in  the  quiet  night  the  crush  of  the  fact  is 


76     "The  Grace  of  the  People  to  come" 

heaviest.  You  may  listen  then  to  the  voice  of  one  of 
the  multitude.  It  has  time  to  enter  into  you,  with  its 
separate  and  distinct  note  of  invitation  to  stop  again 
and  think.  One  of  the  last  nights  spent  in  that 
Hindu  town  was  as  wakeful  as  the  first ;  for  the  blind 
man,  whose  routine  involved  other  streets  than  his  own, 
seemed  to  spend  longer  than  usual  in  his  wanderings 
and  prayers.  On  and  on,  hour  after  hour,  now  near 
and  clear,  now  gradually  distancing  and  softening,  on 
and  on  untiringly  rose  the  mournful  monotone,  "  Siva- 
Sivah  !  Siva-Sivah  !  "  till  I  almost  held  my  breath  to 
hear  a  voice  that  would  answer  him,  almost  strained 
my  eyes  to  see  a  face  that  would  lean  to  him  through 
the  dark.  And  then  the  night,  with  that  strange  power 
night  has,  took  the  sadness,  and  unrolled  it  to  the  full, 
took  the  sense  of  the  drear  and  sharpened  it,  took  the 
dark  and  magnified  it  till  there  was  no  room  for  any 
light.  The  soul  of  the  land  seemed  out  in  the  dark, 
wandering  desolate  up  and  down,  crying  ever  over  and 
over,  "  Siva-Sivah  !  Siva-Sivah  !  " 

Perhaps  the  night  served  as  foil  for  the  morning,  each 
detail  stands  out  with  such  bright  distinctness.  A  pair 
of  sparrows  had  built  in  the  kitchen,  within  hand's 
reach,  but,  of  course,  they  had  not  been  molested,  and 
the  fearless  flying  in  and  out  of  the  birds,  and  the  cheer- 
ful twittering  of  the  nestlings,  gave  character  to  the 
house.  It,  too,  was  a  nest.  And  now  that  the  nestling 
was  well  again,  the  house-nest  was  full  of  happiness  and 
little  sounds  of  content.  We  spent  the  forenoon  with 
the  pastor's  family,  sharing  their  noontide  meal ;  and 
again  the  bird's  nest  was  suggested,  for  the  house  was 


The  Morning  cometh  77 

packed  as  closely  as  any  nest  with  children,  and  the  merry 
little  things'  vocal  zeal  on  that  hot  day  was  inspiring. 

"  The  Grace  of  the  people  to  come,  whose  Httle  ones 
rejoice  in  gladness,"  is  a  Grace  all  sunlit.  Thank  God 
for  the  true  Christian  homes  which  must  multiply  with 
the  years,  however  few  there  are  now.  Surely  India's 
future  will  be  better  than  her  past.  "  Howbeit  this  day 
be  not  Christ's,  the  morrow  shall  be  His." 


CHAPTER  XII 
Alone 

ONE  would  like  to  write  straight  on  of  glad  things 
now,  without  a  break  to  the  end.  But  that  would 
not  be  true.  And  it  is  on  my  mind  to  win  your 
help  for  our  Indian  comrades  situated  as  Victory  and  her 
husband,  and  so  very  many  are,  alone  among  Hindus 
or  Mohammedans,  who,  however  friendly  on  the  common 
plane  of  life,  consider  the  Christian  a  mistake,  and  his 
religion  a  delusion  or  a  sin,  according  to  the  intensity 
with  which  their  own  is  held.  To  such  there  must 
come  moments  of  peculiar  loneliness.  I  realised  this 
more  acutely  than  one  can  easily  describe,  when  not 
long  ago  I  spent  an  afternoon  alone  with  some  opposing 
Hindus. 

We  had  gone  as  a  band  of  women  to  a  neighbouring 
town,  famous  for  its  temple  built  into  a  rock.  The 
separate  castes  Hve  in  separate  quarters.  We  had 
divided  two  and  two  so  as  to  reach  as  many  as  possible. 
The  Brahman  quarter  had  fallen  to  my  share.  My  com- 
panion was  a  young  convert  girl. 

We  were  walking  quietly  towards  the  Brahman  street 
when  a  boy  was  sent  to  tell  us  that  a  deputation  of 
Brahmans  would  wait  upon  me  in  the  rest-house  at  the 


;M^**tx 


No  Choice  but  to  obey  79 

entrance  to  the  street.  I  could  not  refuse  to  go,  for  no 
man-missionary  had  visited  that  town  for  over  two 
years.  I  could  not  expose  a  young  girl  to  the  gaze  and 
remarks  of  the  men.     So  I  went  alone. 

The  rest-house  is  a  lofty  stone-built  room,  with  a 
raised  dais  on  either  side.  It  was  crowded  with  men  on 
one  side.  The  other  side  was  left  for  me.  The  door 
was  open,  and  packed  with  spectators.  They  pointed  to 
the  empty  side  of  the  dais,  and  all  fronted  round  facing 
me. 

I  found  they  knew  a  good  deal  about  Christianity. 
Several  had  studied  in  Mission  schools.  All  knew 
Christians  ;  so  there  was  something  to  go  upon.  But 
they  began  by  asking  why  in  the  first  instance  we 
brought  a  message  to  India  which  India  did  not  want. 
I  told  them  how  long  ago  their  forefathers  and  ours 
lived  as  brothers  on  the  northern  tableland  ;  how  we 
and  they  had  drifted  apart,  they  travelhng  south,  we 
west ;  how  the  Good  Tidings  came  to  us  of  the  west ; 
and  how  our  ascended  Redeemer  and  King  had  told  us 
to  share  the  great  joy  with  others. 

They  were  interested  in  this,  and  observed  that  such 
being  the  wish  of  our  Guru,  we  as  His  disciples  had  no 
choice  but  to  obey.  (The  East  has  much  to  teach  the 
West  upon  the  duty  of  obedience.)  Only,  they  added, 
in  the  interval  of  separation,  God  the  Supreme  had 
divided  their  half  of  the  brotherhood  into  many  sub- 
divisions, whereas  ours  had  remained  a  homogeneous 
mass.  The  message  we  had  brought  would,  they  be- 
lieved, tend  to  disorganise  the  existing  order,  and  reduce 
their  complex  system  into  something  as  simple  as  ours — 


80  Alone 

in  other  words,  do  away  with  caste  :  and  that  therefore 
Christianity  was  not  a  desirable  rehgion  for  India. 

"  The  truth  is,"  writes  the  keen  observer  quoted  before, 
*'  that  the  Asiatics,  Hke  the  Jews,  disUke  Christianity,  see 
in  it  an  ideal  they  do  not  love,  a  promise  they  do  not 
desire,  and  a  pulverising  force  which  must  shatter  their 
civihsations."  That  is  exactly  how  those  men  viewed  it, 
and  they  spoke  out  the  feehng  of  their  race.  I  had  no 
desire  to  attack  their  social  system,  or  to  defend  ours 
(though  a  word  of  explanation  seemed  required).  I  only 
wanted  to  witness  to  a  living,  loving,  personal  Saviour. 
And  I  longed  for  more  power  and  glow  to  show  that  love 
in  its  breadth,  length,  depth,  height*  Tamil  is  rich  in 
words  expressing  almost  every  shade  of  thought.  Our 
message  never  sounds  more  alluring  than  when  told  in  a 
language  which  seems  formed  to  convey  spiritual  ideas.  So, 
confident  in  the  promise  that  words  would  be  given,  and 
would,  though  spoken  in  weakness,  be  clothed  in  strength, 
and  glad  in  the  consciousness  that  I  had  brought  them 
no  foreign  religion  (the  book  is  an  Eastern  book,  per- 
meated with  the  spirit  of  the  East),  and  gladder  still  in 
the  certainty  that  the  Gospel  is  the  power  of  God  unto 
salvation  whether  in  East  or  West,  I  spoke  and  hoped 
with  a  great  hope. 

They  hstened  splendidly.  There  is  something  in  the 
story  which  draws.  But  even  as  they  listened,  leaning  for- 
ward, watchful,  silent,  wholly  attentive,  their  inscrutable 
faces  told  me  nothing. 

After  listening  patiently,  as  is  the  Eastern  way,  they 
spoke  at  some  length.  The  message  was  wonderful, 
beautiful,  excellent  truly  for  those  to  whom  it  pertained. 


Their  inscrutable  faces  told  me  nothing'' 


''We  don't  want  it"  81 

But  as  for  themselves,  "  Why  throw  away  the  fruit  in 
one's  hand,  and  long  for  the  fruit  on  the  tree  ?  "  Desire 
is  may  a,  illusion  ;  virtue  consists  in  cessation  from  desire. 
"  But  we  are  glad,"  they  added,  "  to  form  friendship  with 
you.  As  our  friend,  we  believe,  you  have  come  to  our 
town."  And  in  the  circumlocution  of  the  courteous  and 
leisurely  East,  many  speeches  followed,  to  which  answers 
were  allowed,  till  we  came  to  closer  quarters,  and  they 
spoke  more  directly  what  they  meant.  Like  drops  of 
icy  water,  dropping,  dropping,  fell  their  words  on  one's 
hot  hope. 

"  If  a  heap  of  sugar  were  piled  on  the  floor,  would  you 
have  to  call  the  ants  to  come  ?  They  would  come  with- 
out any  call.  If  your  religion  were  good  for  this  land, 
those  best  fitted  to  judge  of  its  merits,  we,  the  Brahmans, 
would  have  led  the  way  to  it.  As  it  is,  the  undiscerning 
run.  The  poor  and  profoundly  ignorant  run.  We  are 
not  found  in  your  Way." 

"  Look  at  this  town,"  said  another,  pointing  out  through 
the  door  to  the  long  stretching  Brahman  street ;  "  have 
you  a  Christian  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  one  ;  but  such  a  one  !  And  he  is  here  for 
pay!" 

"  Look  at  the  next  town,  and  the  next."  They  named 
half  a  dozen  towns.  "  Have  you  any  living  there  who 
are  not  there  for  pay  ?  " 

"  And  then,"  continued  a  triumphant  voice,  "  look  how 
your  Christians  live.  Do  your  Christians  never  lie  ? 
never  steal  ?  never  bear  false  witness  ?  And  supposing 
they  were  exemplary,  what  are  they  worth  after  all  ? 
How  many  belong  to  us  ?  " 
6 


82  Alone 

"  Have  any  of  the  rulers  or  of  the  Pharisees  believed 
on  Him  ?  "  It  was  not  a  new  question.  As  for  the  slur 
cast  on  the  Christians'  character,  though  one  could  not 
say  all  were  true,  one  could  name  those  who  were. 
There  was  a  confusion  of  conflicting  voices,  as  the  names 
were  tossed  about.  "  Your  Christian  poet !  He  was  my 
father's  friend.  A  great  scholar,  we  know  his  poetry  !  " 
"  Renegade  !  Renegade  !  "  "  No,  poet !  "  Then,  naming 
another  of  God's  noblemen,  one  from  the  caste  which  has 
yielded  most  Christians,  I  set  the  ball  rolling  in  an 
opposite  direction  ;  all  there  knew  him  and  his  stainless 
life,  and  had  to  confess  it  was  good. 

It  is  something  to  have  such  names  to  name  ;  but  no 
names,  no  facts,  can  compel  a  Hindu  to  come  out  in  the 
open  and  face  them.  With  him  an  argument  consists  in 
dodging  about  from  tree  to  tree.  You  follow  him  to  one,  to 
find  he  is  looking  at  you  from  round  the  shppery  trunk 
of  another.  For  in  this  interminable  jungle  the  trees  are 
palms  with  stems  like  poles.  Nothing  so  four-square  as 
an  oak  confronts  you  anywhere. 

It  was  vain  to  follow  from  tree  to  tree,  and  seeing 
one  could  not  be  drawn  to  try,  they  came  back  to  the 
first,  and  repeated  that  the  nation  (meaning  themselves) 
had  shown  no  appreciation  of  our  religion.  The  ants 
avoided  the  sugar  ;  which  proved  it  was  not  sweet  or 
nutritious  to  them,  whatever  it  might  be  to  us.  There 
was  another  skirmish  round  divers  inviting  objections, 
but  their  final  return  to  the  argument  based  on  an 
illustration,  gave  one  the  chance  to  explain  why  all 
who  hear  of  Him  do  not  taste  and  see  that  the  Lord 
is   good.       The   ants   have   nothing   to   leave   behind   in 


What?  When?  Why?  83 

order  to  taste  the  sugar.  We  have  to  leave  our  sm 
before  we  can  truly  taste  the  heavenly  food. 

This  started  questions.  What  is  sin  ?  When  did 
it  come  into  existence  ?  Why  is  it  allowed  to  continue  ? 
Which  is  stronger,  good  or  evil  ?  If  good,  then  how 
is  it  that  it  is  overcome  by  evil  ?  If  the  doctrine  of 
reincarnation,  which  teaches  that  suffering  in  this  life 
is  resultant  from  sin  in  a  former  birth,  is  untrue,  how 
then  do  we  account  for  the  suffering  of  innocent  children  ? 
If  we  answer  that  often  they  suffer  for  their  parents' 
sin,  how  do  we  prove  God  just  ?  What  about  the 
hereafter  ?  How  will  those  be  dealt  with  who  know 
nothing  of  the  way  which  we  affirm  is  the  only  way 
to  bliss  ?  These  were  a  few  of  the  questions  showered 
upon  us  from  all  sides  at  once.  One  sympathised  with 
the  questioners,  for  the  questions  are  as  old  as  the  mind 
of  man. 

So  looking  up  for  answers  which  should  satisfy  even 
where  they  could  not  explain,  I  began  with  the  last 
question,  and  was  reading  that  heart-resting  word  of 
the  Lord  :  "  But  he  that  knew  not,  and  did  commit 
things  worthy  of  stripes," — when  a  voice  broke  in 
authoritatively  : 

"  We  cannot  accept  answers  from  that  book.  Your 
own  Gurus  are  not  agreed  about  it.  Some  say  it  is 
composed  of  legends  and  fables,  mere  myths  at  best. 
Yes,"  and  he  turned  to  the  men,  "  there  are  Christian 
scholars  who  say  so.  The  book  is  not  to  be  regarded 
as  entirely  true." 

It  was  evident  he  had  read,  and  somewhat  misunder- 
stood,   translations    of    certain    English    articles    bearing 


84  Alone 

upon  the  inspiration  of  the  Bible,  which  have  begun 
to  appear  in  India.  One  felt  as  if  one  had  been  hit 
by  mistake  by  a  shot  from  one's  own  side.  I  was  not 
prepared  to  find  this  objection  in  a  remote  country  town, 
and  not  wishing  to  get  involved  in  such  discussion, 
tried  to  lead  them  back  to  the  great  central  truth  upon 
which  all  Christians,  whatever  their  opinion  may  be 
about  other  matters,  are  certainly  agreed.  But  the 
men  were  impatient  now.  "  You  come  to  us  with  a 
mutilated  book  about  which  you  difier  among  yourselves  ! 
You  want  us  to  introduce  the  religion  which  it  teaches 
to  our  women  !  We  will  not  have  it.  We  do  not  want 
it.  You  are  one,  alone.  We  are  the  many  ;  how  can 
the  one  be  right,  and  all  the  number  wrong  ?  We  have 
our  god.  You  see  his  temple  there.  We  have  our 
books,  which  your  wise  men  greatly  prize.  Many  of 
your  sages  are  coming  to  see  that  ours,  the  ancient 
rehgion,  is  true,  and  yours,  born  but  yesterday,  is  false." 
(They  love  this  fallacious  argument.)  "  Listen  !  "  and 
they  named  the  few  converts  won  from  nominal  Chris- 
tianity to  nominal  Hinduism.  "  Listen  !  "  and  they 
quoted  the  remarks  of  one,  a  Christian  visitor  to  India, 
who,  in  his  anxiety  to  show  sympathy  with  the  best 
there  is  in  the  higher  Hinduism,  seemed  to  these  men, 
its  votaries,  almost  to  apologise  to  it  for  the  vandalism 
of  venturing  to  difier  from  it  in  anything. 

There  is  much  that  is  noble  in  ancient  Hindu 
thought.  Anything  like  an  intolerant  attitude  towards 
it  can  only  repel  those  whom  we  would  win.  God 
spoke  to  men  in  the  old  days.  His  light  enhghtened 
them.     But  the  echoes  have  become  confused,  the  light 


"You  ARE  alone"  85 

blurred.  And  this  is  taking  Hinduism  at  its  best,  as 
the  Vedas  show  it,  as  scholars  think  it.  Very  far 
different  is  'its  worst,  as  the  masses  know  it  and 
live  it.  But  taking  it  at  its  best,  is  this  blur  and 
this  confusion  good  enough  for  men  who  are  brother- 
men  with  us  ?  Go  back  if  you  will  to  the  old  books  : 
can  you  find  soul-food  in  them  ?  Dare  you  die  on 
them  ?  Oh,  there  is  only  one  Book  which  feeds,  only 
one  Book  upon  which  we  dare  die  !  Lord,  to  whom 
shall  this  nation  go  ?  Lord,  to  whom  shall  we  go,  or 
they  ?     Thou  hast  the  words  of  eternal  hfe. 

There  was  some  angry  astonished  talk  among  the 
men.  Personally  they  were  perfectly  courteous,  but 
the  preposterous  nature  of  our  proposals  roused  them, 
much  as  a  proposal  made  in  all  seriousness  to  a  company 
of  Englishmen  to  become  Mohammedans  would  have 
roused  them,  had  they  stopped  to  consider  it  at  all. 
They  talked  the  more  unrestrainedly  because  I,  being 
only  a  woman,  did  not  count  as  anybody,  and  if  one 
had  been  detached  enough  to  listen  from  an  outside 
position  it  would  have  been  wonderfully  interesting. 
Chances  for  such  character  study  are  rare  in  the  South. 
But  one  felt  too  much  concerned  in  the  issue  of  that 
conversation  to  be  able  to  detach  oneself.  All  I  could 
see  just  then  was  this  body  of  strong  intelligent  men, 
refusing  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

"  You  are  alone,"  said  one  at  last,  when  the  excite- 
ment had  subsided,  "  and  you  see  how  many  we  are. 
This  is  how  the  case  stands  all  over  India.  Who  fill 
the  highest  positions  open  as  yet  to  us  ?  Hindus. 
Who   then    rule   the  land,  though  you  white    rulers  do 


86  Alone 

not  know  it  ?  Hindus.  And  who  will  rule  it  ?  Do 
you  think  your  Lord  Jesus  Christ  will  rule  it  ?  "  And 
they  laughed  in  scorn.  Outside  in  the  street  people 
pressed  round  the  door.  They  caught  the  laugh,  and 
passed  it  on,  till  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  town  were 
laughing  that  scornful  laugh.     One  felt  alone  then. 

Do  you  wonder  at  it  ?  I  wondered,  when  I  thought 
of  it,  for  of  course  I  was  not  alone.  And  quickly  the 
soothing  of  that  knowledge  came,  and  yet  there  was  for 
the  moment  the  sense  of  human  loneUness.  I  searched 
through  the  long  row  of  faces  opposite,  and  then  through 
the  crowd  of  faces  round  the  door,  to  find  one  with  a 
look  of  recognition  in  it ;  but  I  did  not  find  one.  I 
listened  as  the  many  voices  spoke,  to  hear  one  with  a 
note  of  responsiveness  in  it,  but  I  did  not  hear  one.  It 
was  as  if  one's  whole  being  were  laid  bare  to  the  grief 
of  seeing  His  love  refused.  Oh,  that  one  could  have 
shown  Him  more  clearly,  that  there  had  been  someone 
else  to  speak  !  But  there  was  no  one  else  to  speak,  no 
one  else  just  then  to  care.     That  was  the  loneliness  of  it. 

"  The  stars  in  their  courses  fought  against  Sisera," 
comes  a  voice  to  us  from  the  brave  new  West.  "It  is 
foolish  for  you  to  be  lonely.  You  and  the  stars  are 
fighting  together."  And  yet  this  loneliness,  weak, 
fooHsh,  unreasonable,  what  you  will,  is  often  the  portion 
of  our  Indian  comrades  out  in  the  firing  line.  We  have 
your  sympathy.     Have  they  ? 

Had  this  day's  work  ended  otherwise,  you  would  have 
heard  of  it  long  ago.  No  effort  of  ours  could  have 
confined  the  rumour  of  it.  For  it  is  not  usual  in  the 
history  of  Indian  missions  to  find  a  company  of  Brahmans 


The  Flash  through  the  Blue  87 

receive  the  truth  with  intention  to  obey  it.  But  we 
believe  to  see  the  unusual,  and  it  never  becomes  a  Hght 
thing  to  see  in  literal  fact  what  the  prophet  foresaw,  and 
the  first  great  missionary  experienced,  the  rejection  of 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  by  those  best  fitted  to  understand 
Him.  There  are  places  where  He  stands  now,  "  all  day 
long,"  with  "  hands  stretched  forth,"  and  there  still  are 
those  who  push  those  hands  away,  or  ignore  them.  Lord, 
we  sympathise  with  Thee  !  Let  us  never  be  unresponsive 
to  Thee.     Let  us  never  be  a  disappointment  to  Thee. 

But  even  as  one  writes,  the  swift  thought  turns  and 
flashes  up.  One  is  out  in  that  scoffing  crowd  again,  the 
tumult  of  voices  is  round  one,  as  one  stands  now  out  in 
the  street ;  and  for  the  moment  the  blue  above  becomes, 
as  it  were,  all  transparent,  cleft  through  by  a  sudden 
ray: 

"  Multitudes— multitudes— stood  up  in  bliss, 
Made  equal  to  the  angels,  glorious,  fair  ; 
With  harps,  palms,  wedding  garments,  kiss  of  peace, 
And  crowned  and  haloed  hair. 

"  Tier  above  tier  they  rose  and  rose  and  rose 

So  high  that  it  was  dreadful,  flames  with  flames, 
No  man  could  number  them,  no  tongue  disclose 
Their  sacred  secret  names. 

"  As  though  one  pulse  stirred  all,  one  rush  of  blood 

Fed  all,  one  breath  swept  through  them,  myriad-voiced 
They  struck  their  harps,  cast  domi  their  cro^Mis,  they  stood 
And  worshipped  and  rejoiced." 

Thank  God  for  that  flash  through  the  blue.  Thank 
God  for  the  many  in  whom  Love  will  have  its  way,  for  the 
great  multitude  of  all  nations  and  kindreds  and  peoples 
and   tongues.       But  through   the   Httle   while   that  may 


88  Alone 

intervene  till  we  hear  the  loud  voice  saying  in  heaven, 
"  Now  is  come  salvation  and  strength,  and  the  kingdom 
of  our  God,  and  the  power  of  His  Christ,"  will  you 
remember  your  Indian  comrades  who  are  often  stationed 
in  places  where  there  is  little  upon  which  human  hope 
can  feed  ;  and  will  you  ask  for  them  that  they  may  be 
filled  with  quenchless,  abounding,  victorious  hope  by  the 
power  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  comforted  in  loneliness 
by  the  presence  of  our  Lord  ? 


CHAPTER   XIII 
*^No  Beauty  that  we  should  desire  Him" 

"  "YT^OUR  Christian  poet !  he  was  my  father's  friend  !  a 
-L      great  scholar.     We  know  his  poetry." 

As  the  voice  spoke  I  saw  the  man  it  named  :  a 
tall  gaunt  figure  in  white  ;  white-turbaned  head  ;  eyes 
which  observed  ;  face,  olive  in  colouring,  seamed  and  lined 
all  over,  furrowed  deep  across  the  forehead  ;  character  in 
every  movement  of  the  long  slender  hands  ;  strong  affec- 
tion in  the  glance  of  the  dark  piercing  eyes. 

I  saw  him  as  he  first  photographed  himself  upon  me. 
It  was  one  of  those  days  when  one's  mental  economy, 
instead  of  attending  to  its  proper  business,  seems  to  lie 
out  thin,  hke  a  sensitive  film,  intent  on  receiving  im- 
pressions. It  was  the  last  day  of  my  final  examination 
in  Tamil.  The  old  scholar  was  one  of  the  Examiners. 
He  came  early,  seated  himself  comfortably,  and  put  on 
his  spectacles.  We  were  alone  for  awhile  ;  beyond  the 
salaam  of  greeting  neither  of  us  spoke  :  the  victim  on 
such  occasions  is  not  talkative.  But  the  old  man  looked 
at  me,  and  his  keen  eyes  filled  with  sympathy.  "  Why 
this  fear  ?  "  he  said,  pointing  up,  ^*  God  is." 

Some  words  and  some  gestures  live.  That  hand  point- 
ing upward,  that  voice  saying  **  God  is,"  are  as  if  hours, 


90  "No  Beauty  that  we  should  desire  Him" 

not  years,  had  passed  since  then.  The  overwhelming 
nervousness  which  had  made  the  impending  viva  voce 
ahnost  a  physical  impossibility  passed  in  part  at  least. 
Oh,  the  faithlessness,  the  cowardice  of  fear,  when  God, 
the  Doer,  as  the  name  he  used  suggested,  is. 

And  again  I  saw  him.  He  was  dying  ;  unconscious,  it 
was  thought.  I  had  taken  a  card  with  "  Jesus  "  written 
laro^e  in  Tamil.  "  He  will  not  know^  you  ;  he  cannot 
read  now,"  said  the  watchers  sadly.  But  he  opened  his 
eyes,  and  saw  the  Word,  and  it  was  as  if  a  great  light 
passed  over  his  face.  Never  shall  I  forget  that  light 
and  the  smile  that,  looked  out  of  those  loving  old  eyes  as 
they  hngered  over  the  Word.  Then  we  saw  he  was 
trying  to  Hft  his  hand.  Someone  helped  him,  and  the 
finger  traced  it  as  if  writing  it,  character  by  character. 
No  one  spoke.  He  could  not  speak,  but  the  trembling 
finger  still  traced  the  Word  over  and  over.  Then  the 
lips  moved,  and  the  dark  eyes,  dim  w^ith  death's  dimness, 
shone.  We  knew  he  was  speaking  to  Jesus.  Then 
with  a  satisfied,  rested  look,  like  the  look  of  a  little  tired 
child  that  finds  itself  safe  in  its  mother's  arms,  and  is  so 
glad  just  to  go  to  sleep,  the  old  man  turned,  and  fell 
asleep,  his  hand  still  touching  caressingly  the  dear 
Word  "  Jesus." 

We  all  have  a  room  within  us,  hung  with  pictures. 
Sometimes  when  the  people  about  us  least  know  it,  w^e 
leave  them  to  talk,  and  go  into  that  room,  and  shut  the 
door  very  quietly.  Then  their  voices  sound  a  long  way 
off,  like  the  sound  of  the  sea  waves  falling  on  a  far-away 
other- world  shore.  And  we  look  at  our  pictures.  Time 
does  not  count  in  the  Picture  Room.     There  is  no  hurry- 


"Renegade!"  "Poet!"  91 

ing  of  clocks,  no  beat  of  bells.  But  a  moment  may- 
show  a  month's  pictures,  as  moments  and  months  arc 
counted  elsewhere  ;  and  we  may  look  at  the  pictures  of 
years,  quite  leisurely,  between  the  "  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 
of  the  talker  outside,  and  the  "  Yes  "  or  "  No  "  we  hear 
ourselves  say  in  answer.  So  I  saw  these  pictures  of  our 
old  friend,  and  many  another  distinctly,  in  the  second  of 
time  bet^veen  the  shouts,  "  Renegade  !  "  "  No,  poet !  " 
Then  I  came  out  of  the  Picture  Room,  and  the  voices 
sounded  near  and  loud,  clashing,  jarring. 

What  created  the  difference  wide  as  space  between 
that  man  and  these  ?  In  race,  environment,  ideal,  he 
was  once  as  they  are  now. 

It  is  seldom  that  such  a  question  can  be  answered 
with  any  degree  of  detail,  but  Mr.  Walker,  the  old  man's 
friend,  persuaded  him  to  answer  it  in  writing.  This 
writing  he  translated,  and  one  day  when  I  was  wishing  I 
knew  something  more  of  one  who  had  impressed  me 
more  than  any  Indian  I  had  then  met,  he  gave  me  the 
manuscript  to  read.  It  seems  to  me  worth  giving  you. 
You  w^ill  understand  that  it  loses  in  translation.  But 
the  heart  in  sympathy  will  feel  the  heart  beat  through  it, 
coldly  though  it  must  read,  and  heavily,  in  comparison 
with  the  warmth  and  lightness  of  the  Indian  original. 

The  manuscript  is  headed,  "  How  I  became  a  Chris- 
tian :  written  in  1893."  Then  the  text,  "  Be  ready 
always  to  give  an  answer  to  every  man  that  asketh  a 
reason  of  the  hope  that  is  in  you,  with  meekness  and 
fear,"  or  as  the  Tamil  has  it,  "  with  meekness  and  rever- 
ence." With  meekness  and  reverence,  then,  he  begins  : 
"  If  asked  to  state  what  was  the  Cause  of  my  breaking  off 


92  ''No  Beauty  that  we  should  desire  Him" 

with  Hinduism  to  become  a  Christian,  what  Cause  can  I 
assign  except  only  the  tender  compassion  of  Heavenly 
grace  ?  At  the  same  time  I  am  ready  to  narrate  the 
subsidiary  means  for  so  great  a  change,  which  that 
Heavenly  grace  employed  from  time  to  time,  and  to 
write  in  order  the  events  which  proved  conducive  to  my 
conversion." 

A  few  strenuous  words  as  to  Hinduism  preface  this  in- 
troduction. He  writes  as  an  Indian  poet  does,  wrapping 
thoughts  in  tight  bundles,  which  once  unfastened  refuse 
to  be  packed  up  again  in  as  small  compass.  So  that  we 
cannot  do  justice  to  its  compressed  intensity.  English 
sounds  diffuse  after  such  Tamil. 

As  a  Hindu  of  tlie  stricter  type,  his  hfe,  he  says,  was 
sin  :  sin  which  did  not  recognise  its  sinfulness.  Utter- 
most darkness  was  around  him  and  within  him.  Then 
came  the  tenderness  of  God's  compassion,  the  grace  which 
cares.  As  a  hand  it  drew  him,  lifted  him  out  of  the 
abyss,  set  him  in  the  Way,  made  him,  once  a  Hindu  and 
an  alien,  meet  to  be  a  partaker  of  the  inheritance  of  the 
saints  in  light.  Again  and  again  in  language  which 
seems  to  be  searching  for  words  warm  enough  and  bright 
enough  to  radiate  forth  the  joy  that  is  in  him,  he  piles 
verse  upon  verse  in  praise  of  the  Father  who  delivered 
him  from  the  power  of  darkness,  and  translated  him 
into  the  kingdom  of  His  dear  Son. 

"  I  was  a  Hindu  of  the  strict  Vaishnavite  sect." 
[Vaishnavites  are  votaries  of  Vishnu,  the  second  person 
in  the  Hindu  triad.]  "  I  had  only  one  brother,  younger 
than  myself.  My  father  possessed  in  an  eminent  degree 
the  excellent  characteristics  of  benevolence,  compassion, 


Home  Influences  93 

merciful  pity,  and  kindness  to  animals.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  a  few  defects  he  was  consistently  a  zealous 
votary  of  the  Vaishnavite  creed.  He  possessed  great 
ability  in  understanding  the  meaning  of  the  Tamil 
classics,  and  in  expounding  them  to  others.  The  study 
of  these  formed  his  mental  pastime.  He  was  neither 
very  rich  nor  very  poor  ;  and  he  was  held  in  high 
esteem  by  the  scholars,  Government  officials,  and  mag- 
nates of  his  day.  At  the  age  of  forty-seven  the  re- 
linquishment of  his  body  befell  him,  but  before  this  he 
had  sought  out  and  married  to  me,  then  aged  thirteen 
and  a  half,  a  small  girl-child.  Moreover,  he  had  divided 
the  family  property  so  that  there  should  be  no  room  for 
trouble  or  disputes  on  the  part  of  oiir  relatives.  This 
arrangement  proved  most  serviceable  to  us  boys,  in  the 
matter  of  our  education.  While  my  father  still  lived 
he  had  taught  me  the  Ramayana,  and  my  mother,  who 
was  a  keen-minded  woman,  used  to  tell  us  the  poem's 
story,  and  explain  the  meaning  of  the  stanzas. 

"  It  was  during  my  father's  hfetime  that  I  was  initi- 
ated. This  initiation  includes  the  Sealing,  or  Branding, 
which  means  the  branding  of  both  shoulders  of  the 
votary  by  a  golden  discus,  heated  red-hot  in  the  sacri- 
ficial fire,  in  token  that  he  is  a  devotee,  slave  of  Vishnu, 
that  he  will  never  henceforth  break  his  fast  without 
having  first  performed  the  prescribed  daily  ceremonies, 
and  that  he  will  faithfully  observe  such  and  such  rites. 
I  was  only  a  small  boy  at  the  time,  so  two  strong  men 
gripped  me  firmly  from  behind,  and  held  me  tight.  The 
heat  and  pain  were  intolerable  ;  my  eyes  filled  with 
tears.     But  it  would  have  been  disgrace  and  the  height 


94  ''No  Beauty  that  we  should  desire  Him" 

of  misdemeanour  at  sucli  a  moment  to  cry  aloud.  My 
father  had  some  others  branded  with  me,  as  a  meritorious 
act  of  charity  :  the  cost  was  one  hundred  rupees.  I  was 
the  only  one  in  our  family  on  whom  the  rite  was  per- 
formed. It  is  now  nearly  fifty-two  years  since  these 
brand  marks  were  stamped  upon  me,  but  they  are  still 
only  too  clearly  visible.  I  was  then  taught  by  our 
Guru  to  repeat  the  chief  and  fundamental  mantra,  which, 
being  interpreted,  means  '  All  adoration  to  Vishnu,  the 
mystic  Om.' 

"  When  I  was  eighteen  years  of  age  I  was  a  bitter  foe 
not  of  Christianity  as  such,  but  of  those  who,  according 
to  the  fashion  of  that  period,  wrote  down  their  names  as 
Christians,  while  they  disgraced  the  glorious  name  of 
Christ.  .  .  . 

"  From  my  eighteenth  year,  my  brother  and  myself, 
instead  of  spending  our  time  idly,  studied  carefully,  by 
our  own  exertions,  the  Tamil  classics.  Not  only  so,  but 
since  printed  copies  of  Tamil  grammatical  works  were 
then  unprocurable,  we  borrowed,  from  a  respected  senior, 
palm-leaf  copies  of  the  standard  grammars  (written  in 
poetical  form)  and  wrote  out  new  copies  for  ourselves 
on  palmyra  leaves.  At  that  time  there  were  only  two 
or  three  scholars  in  the  whole  district  who  were  really 
versed  in  Tamil.  One  of  these  was  a  friend  of  my 
father.  We  took  advantage  of  the  fact,  attached  our- 
selves to  him,  and  exerted  ourselves  to  study.  For  a 
year  and  a  half  we  rendered  him  the  service  of  disciples, 
and  so  pursued  our  studies.  Still  later  we  worked  with 
earnest  ardour,  and  thus  completed  our  grammatical 
studies.     If  I  had  not  given  myself  thus  to  grammatical 


Indian  Culture  95 

study,  how  should  I  ever  have  become  a  Tamil  Pandit  ? 
Had  I  not  become  a  Tamil  Pandit  how  should  I  ever 
have  become  closely  acquainted  with  Christian  truth  ? 
It  is  clear  to  me,  therefore,  that  it  was  the  doing  of  the 
Holy  Mind,  and  that  alone,  which  attracted  me  from  early 
youth  to  Tamil  studies." 

Thus  far  the  education  of  one  who  was  to  become 
pre-eminently  the  Christian  Tamil  scholar  of  South 
India.  Those  who  are  accustomed  to  look  upon  "  the 
poor  heathen "  en  masse,  as  ignorant  barbarians,  will 
read,  with  some  surprise  perhaps,  this  simple  account  of 
a  cultured  home,  where  the  study  of  the  classics  was  the 
pastime  of  the  father,  and  the  telling  of  beautiful  old 
world  tales  to  her  little  sons,  the  mother's  pleasure. 
Such  pastime  and  such  pleasure  imply  a  knowledge  of 
the  ancient  language  in  which  all  poetry  is  written,  and 
this  in  itself,  as  any  scholar  versed  in  it  will  acknow- 
ledge, is  the  study  of  a  Hfetime. 

Both  brothers  became  Pandits,  Professors  of  Tamil,  in 
missionary  colleges,  and  thus  came  in  contact  for  the 
first  time  with  vital  Christianity. 

The  story  continues  : 

"  Before  I  undertook  this  work,  I  knew  nothing  really 
of  Christianity.  True,  v/hen  I  was  about  ten  years  old, 
a  tract  called  '  The  Incarnation  of  Grace  '  fell  into  my 
hands.  In  it  Vishnu's  ten  incarnations  were  described 
in  order,  and  the  abominations  in  each  were  dilated 
upon.  But  this  was  the  only  impression  left  on  my 
mind.  The  closing  part  of  it,  describing  the  holy  attri- 
butes and  deeds  of  Him  who  is  the  Form  of  Salvation, 
had  no  effect  on  me  at  all.  . 


96  ''No  Beauty  that  we  should  desire  Him" 

"  When  I  began  my  Pandit  work  tlie  missionary  to 
whom  I  gave  lessons  in  the  language  treated  me  with 
considerable  kindness,  and  used  to  speak  to  me  about 
the  Christian  Way.  Though  his  words  upon  this  subject 
were  as  gall  and  wormwood  to  my  Hindu  soul,  yet  by 
degrees  his  excellent  character  and  deeds  won  upon  me, 
and  induced  me  to  listen  to  what  he  said  without  gain- 
saying. A  little  later  I  borrowed  a  copy  of  the  Tamil 
Scriptures,  and  began  to  read  it.  I  read  as  far  as  the 
twentieth  chapter  of  Exodus,  in  order,  from  the  beginning. 
From  what  I  thus  read  I  got  it  firmly  fixed  in  my  mind, 
that  the  creation  of  the  world,  the  advent  of  sin,  the 
Deluge,  and  other  following  incidents,  are  faithfully  and 
truly  narrated  in  the  Bible,  and  that  all  the  stories  which 
occur  in  the  Vaishnavite  books  about  these  subjects  are 
inventions,  baseless  myths,  and  garnished  pleasantries. 
Thus  the  daily  ceremonies  which  I,  as  a  Vaishnavite, 
scrupulously  observed,  my  fastings,  attendances  at  the 
religious  festivals  with  which  each  month  ends,  and  Caste 
etiquette  and  distinctions,  palled  upon  my  taste. 

"  It  was  at  this  juncture  that  my  mind  became  deeply 
impressed  with  the  consciousness  that  I  should  have  to 
face  the  responsibility  of  my  sins,  and  that  the  paltry 
subterfuges  and  atonements  which  are  found  in  Hinduism 
were  useless  and  vain.  But  what  of  this  ?  Does  not 
the  poet  remind  us  how  .he  foolish  cock,  through  sheer 
force  of  habit,  continues  its  idiotic  scratching  on  the  rock, 
as  if  grains  of  rice  were  there  ?  And  so  it  was  with  me. 
The  old  inclinations  refused  to  leave  my  mind  (such  as 
the  inclination  still  to  search  in  Hinduism  for  what  was 
not  there)  ;  and  the  sinful  habits  in  which  I  had  so  long 


The  Form  of  Listening  97 

indulged  continued  in  unabated  force.  I  therefore  came 
to  tlie  conclusion  that  since  association  with  Christians 
and  the  reading  of  their  Book  disturbed  my  mind,  my 
best  course  was  to  cut  clear  of  both  ;  and  accordingly  I 
desisted  entirely  from  such  conversation  and  reading. 
If  any  Christian  accosted  me,  I  gave  no  room  for  con- 
versation. Only  when  the  missionary  spoke  did  I  go 
through  the  form  of  hstening  ;  but  it  was  with  a  deaf 
ear.  Some  time  so  passed.  Hard  was  my  heart  and 
dead." 

With  a  few  graphic  words  he  closes  this  part  of  his 
story,  telling  in  terse  Tamil  poetry  how  he  "  beat,  bruised, 
and  slew,  slew,  ay  and  buried,"  the  Hving  voice  within 
him,  which  slain,  still  lived  and  spoke  of  Him  who  as 
yet  had  no  form  or  comeliness  to  him,  no  beauty  that 
he  should  desire  Him. 


CHAPTER   XIV 
**With  His  Stripes  we  are  healed" 

ABOUT  this  time  liis  "  Hindu  soul "  was  stirred  to 
its  depths,  and  lashed  into  wrath,  by  the  con- 
version of  several  of  his  friends.  The  first  one 
to  cross  the  line,  and  break  for  ever  with  life  as  it  had 
been,  was  a  fellow-Pandit,  who  as  a  fellow-student  in  old 
days  had  been  "  a  fast  heart-friend."  This  was  grief  un- 
speakable. And  worse  followed  ;  for  shortly  afterwards 
his  own  younger  brother,  together  with  two  other  friends, 
confessed  themselves  Christians,  and  were  baptized. 

"  It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  all  that  followed 
this,"  he  writes  :  "  the  tumults  which  arose  ;  the  insults 
which  the  missionaries  had  to  endure  ;  the  anguish 
which  filled  the  hearts  of  the  parents  and  relations  of 
the  newly  baptized.  No  English  mind  can  grasp  the 
extent  of  the  grief  which  my  mother  and  I  experienced 
on  account  of  my  brother's  conversion.  However  much 
I  might  say  or  write  about  it,  it  would  still  remain 
utterly  beyond  the  ken  of  foreigners,  and  might  only 
seem  to  them  grotesque,  extraordinary.  I  do  not  charge 
them  with  want  of  sympathy.  I  only  say  that  it  lies 
beyond  the  bounds  of  their  experience. 

"  One  of  the  two  who  had  just  been  baptized  had  been 


Heart-Sore  99 

for  years  my  bosom  friend.  Though  he  was  younger 
than  myself  my  mind  rejoiced  to  regard  his  word  as  the 
word  of  a  very  guru,  because  of  the  ripeness  of  his 
knowledge,  keenness  of  intellect,  and  nobility  of  char- 
acter and  life."  All  that  was  over  now.  In  that 
hour  of  shock  it  seemed  as  if  the  friend  dishonoured 
and  defiled  could  be  a  friend  no  longer.  The  pain  was 
poignant. 

Between  the  brothers  there  was  the  same  misery  of 
estrangement.  They  had  been  united  in  a  closeness  of 
intimacy  rare  in  the  West :  now  seas  divided  them. 
And  the  mother,  devoted  as  the  Indian  mother  is  with 
a  devotion  the  more  intense  because  the  less  diffused, 
had  to  see  the  son  who  was  ever  as  the  nursling  to  her 
heart,  pass  into  another  world  with  which  hers  held  no 
communion.  Night  after  night  she  wailed  the  death 
wail  for  him.     To  her  love,  to  her  care,  he  was  dead. 

And  then  while  the  wound  was  still  too  new  to 
bear  even  the  tenderest  touch,  the  missionary  touched 
it,  by  mistake.  "  Your  brother  has  become  a  Chris- 
tian, has  he  not  ?  What  is  there  now  to  hinder 
you  ?  "  This  was  to  the  Pandit.  What  was  there  to 
hinder  ?  Only  his  mother's  completed  desolation,  his 
young  wife's  woe.  Was  not  the  home  stricken  hard 
enough  already  ?  Stung  to  the  quick  the  Pandit 
answered  haughtily,  left  the  room  indignantly,  and  im- 
mediately sent  in  his  resignation.  The  missionary 
recognised  his  mistake,  would  not  accept  the  resigna- 
tion, tried  to  explain  where  he  could  not  console.  But 
though  he  persuaded  his  Pandit  to  stay,  and  strove  to 
show  him  he  truly  cared,  he  could  not  undo  the  effect  of 


100     "With  His  Stripes  we  are  healed" 

those  words,  and  one  can  understand  how  the  two  must 
have  drifted  apart. 

It  all  happened  years  ago.  Pandit  and  pupil  have 
long  been  together  in  the  land  where  forgiveness  means 
forgetting.  But  the  incident  speaks  to  us  of  to-day. 
There  are  times  when  we  can  best  help  a  soul  through 
silence,  not  speech. 

After  a  time  the  young  Pandit  and  his  special  friend 
drew  together,  in  spite  of  their  divergence  of  views,  and 
the  friend  understanding  him  could  help  him.  He  lent 
him  The  PilgrMs  Progress  to  read  ;  the  book  became 
alluring  to  him,  took  hold  of  him,  became  at  once  his 
possession  and  possessor.  In  after  years  he  translated 
or  adapted  it  so  finely  in  Tamil  verse,  that  it  has  become 
the  greatest  of  our  Christian  classics,  judged  from  a 
higher  Tamil  point  of  view.  "  I  have  poured  my  life 
into  that  book,"  he  said  once.  "  My  heart's  deepest  is 
in  it."     But  that  was  later. 

"  My  friend  impressed  it  strongly  upon  me,"  the  story 
continues,  "  that  it  was  absolutely  essential  for  me  to 
forsake  all  known  sin,  otherwise  it  would  be  useless  for 
me  to  read  religious  books,  or  indeed  anything  else.  I 
acted  upon  his  advice.  I  endeavoured  to  put  away 
everything  which  I  knew  to  be  wrong  in  my  life.  Some 
glaring  sins,  my  conscience  being  witness,  I  entirely 
forsook.  Nevertheless,  though  an  outward  reformation 
took  place  to  some  extent,  there  was  no  inward  cleansing 
from  sin,  neither  was  my  mind  constant  and  steadfast. 

"  When  I  met  my  friend  later  he  told  me  to  read  the 
Gospel  history  in  order,  and  to  ask  God  to  open  my 
spirit-eyes.     He  taught  me,  too,  how  I  should  pray,  and 


'* All's  Love  yet  all's  Law"  101 

I  set  to  work  to  follow  his  instructions.  But  tliough  I 
came  in  this  way  to  understand  clearly  the  doctrines  of 
the  Saviour's  holy  incarnation,  I  was  all  in  a  haze  of 
confusion  as  to  how  His  atonement  could  bring  salvation 
to  man." 

I  have  hesitated  about  copying  out  the  next  para- 
graph :  the  wonderful  way  of  salvation  is  so  famihar  to 
the  reader.  But  it  may  be,  one  will  read  this  page 
whose  feet  have  not  yet  trodden  that  path,  and  perhaps 
the  old  scholar's  description  of  what  was  to  him  such 
unfamiliar  ground  may  be  like  a  light  from  the  East, 
falhng  upon  it,  making  the  steps  show  clearer. 

"  One  day,  when  that  soul-friend  and  I  were  alone 
together,  I  told  him  all  about  my  doubts  and  bewilder- 
ment, and  asked  him  questions  on  the  subject.  He 
therefore  explained  to  me  how  the  Lord  Christ,  the  Son 
of  God,  had  become  the  Mediator  between  the  holy  God 
and  sinful  men,  who  had  broken  God's  law,  and  were  in 
sin's  dark  prison.  He  showed  me  how  He,  the  Christ, 
had  become  Surety  for  men,  and  was  incarnate  as  the 
Reconciler  (the  One  who  makes  smooth  the  unevenness 
between  justice  and  mercy)  ;  how  He  had  kept  the  law 
for  men,  being  pure  in  mind,  word,  deed  ;  that  is,  pure 
in  His  whole  nature.  For  we  Hindus  regard  the 
essentials  of  being  as  threefold :  there  is  the  mind, 
source  of  thought ;  the  tongue,  which  forms  words, 
expression  of  thought ;  the  body,  producing  action, 
thought  made  visible.  Viewed  from  all  points  He  was 
pure.  My  friend  further  showed  me  how  the  Lord  had 
wrought  out  spotless  righteousness,  and  had  taken  upon 
Himself  all  the  sins  of  all  mankind,  with  all  the  punish- 


102    ''With  His  Stripes  we  are  healed" 

ment  due  to  tliem  ;  and  how  He  had  endured  untold 
agony  of  soul  and  body  on  the  cross,  shedding  His 
blood,  and  yielding  up  His  life  as  a  sacrifice  for  sin,  and 
so  providing  for  us  most  perfect  merit.  He  went  on  to 
describe  how  He  had  risen  victorious  from  the  dead,  and 
so  finally  procured  eternal  life  for  countless  souls  ;  and 
how  He  had  ascended  to  Heaven,  and  taken  up  His 
glorious  session  on  the  right  hand  of  the  Father,  there  to 
intercede  and  bestow  salvation  on  all  behevers.  He 
explained,  moreover,  that  since  Christ  was  universal  Lord, 
the  salvation  which  He  had  purchased  was  available  for 
all  mankind,  and  that  whosoever  sincerely,  with  real  con- 
trition and  repentance,  beheves  that  Christ  alone  is  the 
Sin-Destroyer,  the  World-Saviour,  and  that  He  bore  and 
put  away  his  punishment, — is  justified  ;  and  to  him  is 
imparted  Christ's  perfect  merit.  '  This  is  salvation,' 
said  my  friend.     '  The  one  so  saved  is  a  liberated  soul.'  " 

Then  followed  the  new-old  miracle.  "  The  Spirit  of 
God  sent  home  this  truth  to  my  heart  then  and  there. 
That  very  day  I  knew  the  Lord  Christ.  That  very  day 
I  learned  to  pray  in  His  name.  That  very  day  the  sins 
which  had  seemed  sweet  to  me  before  became  bitterness 
itself.     That  very  day  I  resolved  to  be  a  Christian." 

And  that  very  day  he  who  was  to  be  known  wherever 
the  Tamil  tongue  is  known  as  the  Christian  poet,  sang 
his  first  song  to  the  glory  of  the  "  Glorious  Sea  of  Grace, 
bright  Sun  of  Love,  whose  radiance  makes  the  darkness 
flee."  Thought  on  thought  and  word  on  word  came 
running  up,  eager  to  tell  what  cannot  be  told  of  the 
light  like  the  light  of  the  morning  when  the  sun  rises, 
of  the  fairness  like   the  fairness    of    the    green    tender 


"See  the  Christ  stand"  103 

grass  springing  out  of  the  earth  by  clear  shining  after 
rain,  of  the  skyful  of  stars  which  all  were  suns  that  had 
suddenly  opened  above  him.  And  he  longed  for  power 
to  express  to  his  people  the  beauty  and  dearness  of  Christ 
Jesus  his  Redeemer,  by  whose  stripes  he  was  healed. 


CHAPTEK   XV 
"He  shall  see  of  the  Travail  of  His  Soul" 

HOW  shall  I  tell  wliat  happened  ?  "  he  writes, 
looking  back  on  that  illuminated  day.  "  God 
opened  my  heart,  and  I  opened  my  hps  to 
praise  Him  for  His  love."  Simply  told,  is  it  not  ? 
"  God  opened  my  heart  :  I  opened  my  lips."  Life 
henceforth  was  to  be  for  him  full  of  that  opening  of 
the  lips  which  fills  other  lips  with  song. 

But  not  quite  yet.  "  Now,  though  none  of  my  family 
knew  of  my  change,  they  began  to  grow  suspicious  about 
me,  because  I  discontinued  my  former  religious  observ- 
ances ;  and  they  asked  questions  about  it.  I  put  them 
off  with  evasive  answers.  I  used  to  pray  on  my  mat, 
after  all  had  retired.  Sometimes  my  wife  would  come 
unexpectedly  and  ask  me  some  question,  and  my  silence 
increased  her  suspicions.  I  soon  got  tired  of  conceal- 
ments, and  calhng  her  alone  one  day,  I  said  a  few  words 
gently  about  Christianity.  She  at  once  began  to  cry 
and  make  a  great  noise,  threatening  to  take  her  hfe. 

"  "WTien  I  came  to  the  decision  to  become  a  Christian, 
we  had  three  little  daughters  under  five  years  of  age. 
My  chief  anxiety  was  lest,  by  becoming  an  open  Christian, 
I  should  plunge  my  family  in  great  grief  and  confusion  ; 


"Restlessly  at  Rest"  105 

and  though  my  decision  was  not  weakened  by  this,  I  had 
not  the  boldness  to  shake  myself  free  from  my  fear,  and 
take  the  open  step.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  I  spent 
some  time  like  a  man  fast  bound  in  prison." 

This  will  seem  incredible  to  some.  Had  he  not  known 
the  Lord  Christ  ?  To  others  it  will  seem  only  natural, 
indeed  right.  His  mother  had  been  already  sorely  stricken 
by  her  other  son's  defection ;  how  could  he  raise  his  hand 
to  strike  her  again  ?  His  wife  trusted  him  ;  how  could 
he  wrong  her  trust  ?  His  relations,  though  not  dependent 
upon  him,  were  connected  by  closest  ties  of  affection  ; 
uncles  and  aunts  who  had  known  him  from  childhood, 
cousins  innumerable.  In  England  families  subdivide : 
in  India  they  hold  together.  How  could  he,  as  he  said, 
plunge  all  these  people,  who  loved  him,  and  whom  he 
loved,  into  "  great  grief  and  confusion."  He  could  not 
wreck  the  home  :  all  that  was  good  in  him  rose  and 
protested.  So  he  did  certain  compromising  things,  and 
instead  of  the  sword,  there  was  peace.  How  could  he 
do  otherwise  ?  someone  asks  with  sympathy.  "  Things 
that  appeared  undoubted  sins  wear  little  crowns  of  light " 
(if  we  may  misquote  in  thought),  when  we  look  at  them 
from  the  human  side,  and  sympathise  first,  with  each 
other,  and  second,  with  God.  "  For  the  bravest  sin  that 
ere  was  praised,  the  King  Eternal  wore  a  crown  of 
thorns  "  :  that  is  how  the  matter  looks  from  the  other 
side.     He  reahsed  this  at  last. 

Then  came  the  inevitable  agony.  Would  God  it  need 
not  be  !  To  smooth  it  over  a  friend  suggested  that  if 
he  went  quietly  to  Madras,  then  farther  from  his  home 
than  India  is  from  England  as  regards  journey-time,  it 


106  ''He  shall  see  of  the  Travail  of  His  Soul  " 

would  be  easier  to  confess  Christ  openly,  and  to  persuade 
his  wife  to  join  him.  Easier  in  every  way,  because  the 
family  would  be  among  strangers,  and  not  their  own 
caste  people.  And  so  it  was  arranged.  He  left  his 
wife  and  children  with  his  mother,  went  to  Madras, 
got  work  as  Pandit,  and  wrote  for  his  family  to  come 
and  join  him.  Not  knowing  all,  they  consented  ;  but, 
just  as  they  were  about  to  start,  someone  gave  the 
alarm, — some  "  meddlesome  old  woman,"  he  writes  dis- 
gustedly,— and  they  refused  to  come.  A  month  after- 
wards, when  the  news  reached  him,  he  felt  he  could 
delay  no  longer.  He  and  two  other  young  caste  men 
from  his  own  country,  who  also  wanted  to  be  Christians, 
clubbed  together,  went  to  church  together,  studied  the 
Bible  together,  and  finally  decided  to  be  baptized  together. 
His  heart  went  out  to  them  in  clinging  affection. 

But  spies  were  on  the  track.  They  had  thought  them- 
selves unnoticed  in  the  great  city  ;  but  the  Caste  con- 
federation has  eyes  everywhere,  they  had  been  under 
observation  all  the  time.  It  was  reported  that  they 
consorted  with  Christians,  ceased  wearing  Vishnu's  marks, 
and  were  cooking  for  themselves,  because  their  Hindu 
cook  considered  them  reprobate.  This  brought  two  of 
the  fathers  in  hot  haste  to  Madras.  Both  sons  yielded. 
The  third  had  no  father  to  come  ;  the  m.onth's  journey 
was  too  much  for  the  frail  old  mother,  so  he  was  left 
unmolested,  and  he  went  quietly  on. 

There  were  crowds  in  the  great  city,  but  none  of  his 
own.  It  was  an  empty  city  to  him.  Most  of  us  have 
known  such  times,  when  the  sudden  ceasing  of  some 
voice  makes  a  silence  that   "  aches  round "  us  "  like  a 


Steadied  107 

strong  disease,  and  new."  His  was  the  poet  nature, 
sensitive  to  suffering  as  to  happiness.  Behind  him  lay 
his  home,  and  all  good  memories ;  before  him  the 
heaped-up  pain  of  hurting  further  those  whom  he  most 
dearly  loved ;  and  around  him,  closing  heavily,  the 
silence. 

It  was  the  most  difficult  time  in  his  life.  He  was 
helped  through  it  by  a  young  missionary  to  whom  he 
was  teaching  Tamil.  "  She  talked  to  me  most  feeUngly 
about  the  Saviour,  and  steadied  me  in  Christ.  The 
work  I  did  for  her  was  little  ;  the  work  she  did  for  me 
was  much." 

He  saw  his  two  friends  occasionally,  but  most  of  his 
time  was  spent  alone,  and  as  he  had  no  one  to  talk  to 
he  talked  the  more  to  his  Lord.  Conversations  alone 
with  Christ  are  wonderfully  strengthening.  Soon  he 
felt  himself  urged  with  an  inward  urging  to  burn  the 
bridge  behind.     He  was  baptized. 

From  this  time  onwards  he  was  in  truth  a  man  in 
love  with  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  It  pleased  the  Lord 
so  to  "  line  his  heart  with  the  love  of  his  Lord  Jesus," 
that  in  the  years  when  we  knew  him  he  could  not  speak 
of  Him  without  a  kindUng  of  expression  and  a  fervour 
that  recalled  Samuel  Rutherford,  Ter  Steegen,  and  Tauler. 
The  same  spirit  burned  in  him,  the  warm  love  that  is 
not  afraid  of  being  too  warm.  The  Love  that  would  not 
let  him  go,  but  followed  and  found  and  won  him,  had 
won  him  now  to  an  abandonment  of  love  that  broke  out 
in  rivers  of  love  songs.  Oh,  for  more  and  more  of  that 
love  !  "  Oh,  that  He  would  strike  out  windows,  and  fair 
and  great  lights  in  this  old  house,  this  fallen- down  soul, 


108  "He  shall  see  of  the  Travail  of  His  Soul " 

and  then  set  the  soul  near-hand  Christ,  that  the  rays  and 
beams  of  light  and  the  soul-delighting  glances  of  the 
fair,  fair  Godhead  might  shine  in  at  the  windows  and 
fill  the  house  !  A  fairer,  and  more  near  and  direct  sight 
of  Christ  would  make  room  for  His  love  ;  for  we  are 
but  pinched  and  straitened  in  His  love.  Alas,  it  were 
easy  to  measure  and  weigh  all  the  love  that  we  have  for 
Christ  by  inches  and  ounces.  Alas,  that  we  should  love 
by  measure  and  weight,  and  not  rather  have  floods  and 
feasts  of  Christ's  love  !  Oh,  that  Christ  would  break 
down  the  old  narrow  vessels  of  these  narrow  and  ebb 
souls,  and  make  fair,  deep,  wide,  and  broad  souls,  to  hold 
a  sea  and  a  full  tide  (flowing  over  all  its  banks)  of 
Christ's  love  !  " 

And  now  one  idea  informed  his  life — the  passion  of  the 
soul-winner  was  Hke  a  fire  within  him.  He  must  return 
to  his  own  house,  and  win  his  wife  and  mother.  He  left 
Madras,  travelled  southwards,  eager,  expectant,  longing 
to  see  his  dear  ones  again,  and  to  tell  them  all.  They 
received  him  with  tears,  with  coldness,  with  bitter 
reproaches,  and  the  turning  away  of  the  faces  he  loved. 

"  O  Cross,  that  liftest  up  my  head, 
I  dare  not  ask  to  fly  from  Thee ; 
I  lay  in  dust  life's  glory  dead, 
And  from  the  ground  there  blossoms  red 
Life  that  shall  endless  be." 

"  My  mother's  agony  was  boundless.  It  would  be 
impossible  to  describe  it.  I  know  not  the  words." 
Things  soften  as  we  look  back  at  them  through  the 
mist  of  many  years.  This  thing,  this  pain,  stands  out 
unblvirred  in  the  sharpness  of  its  outline,  a  cruel  thing 


"Thronging  through"  109 

and  a  bitter.  The  days  that  followed  were  like  so  many 
jagged-edged  saws,  sawing  away  relentlessly  at  the  very 
nerves  of  his  being.  It  is  easy  to  be  brave  when  our 
hearts  are  whole  and  well,  but  when  they  are  cut  and 
hurt,  and  strained  all  out  of  shape,  then  it  is  hard. 
"  Strive  to  throng  through  the  thorns  of  this  life  to 
be  with  Christ."  By  God's  grace  he  thronged  through, 
but  for  eighteen  months  it  was  a  daily  thronging  through. 
His  wife  left  him.  He  had  two  young  children  to 
see  to.  None  of  his  womenfolk  would  help  him.  His 
old  friends  despised  him.  His  people  would  have  none 
of  him. 

After  a  while  his  mother  relented,  and  helped  him  a 
little  with  the  children.  And  the  brother  did  what  he 
could.  But  until  his  own  wife  came  back  to  him  he  was 
desolate  on  the  human  side,  though  comforted  as  such 
must  be  :  for  "  only  heaven  is  better  than  to  walk  with 
Christ  at  midnight  over  moonless  seas." 

He  had  kept  the  two  little  children  in  the  hope  that 
they  would  draw  their  mother  back.  She,  widowed, 
according  to  Hindu  feeling,  held  aloof  in  loneliness 
only  second  to  his.  But  it  was  as  he  had  hoped.  She 
returned  to  the  town,  though  not  at  first  to  her  home. 
The  children  were  sent  to  see  her.  After  long  waiting 
she  was  willing  to  return  to  her  polluted  home,  for  the 
sake  of  the  mother-love  that  could  not  rest  away. 
And  he  taught  her  patiently  till  at  last  she  too  found 
Christ. 

After  a  time  his  old  mother  gave  in,  and  several  other 
members  of  his  family  were  converted.  He  was  greatly 
used    in    winning    intelligent    Hindus,    men    not    easily 


1 1 0  "He  shall  see  of  the  Travail  of  His  Soul " 

satisfied.  He  became  known  as  the  "  Catcher  of  Men." 
No  one  since  his  time  has  exerted  quite  such  an 
influence  among  young  students  and  thinkers  and  caste- 
bound  orthodox  Hindus.  It  was  not  only  his  scholar- 
ship .  which  all  acknowledged  and  respected,  it  was  his 
character.  The  Hindus  studied  him  through  the  years 
of  his  outwardly  uneventful  life,  and  they  recognised  the 
man  for  what  he  was.  So  old  age  came  quietly  on, 
and  then,  as  we  have  told  it  : 

•'  To  the  Hght  more  clear  than  noon, 
Passed  a  soul  that  grew  to  music 
Till  it  was  with  God  in  tune." 

A  Tamil  manuscript  has  been  sent  to  us  by  a  lawyer, 
one  of  our  leading  Christians.  He  tells  his  story,  as  our 
poet  told  his,  to  the  glory  of  God's  grace.  He  went  to 
study,  he  says,  in  the  Christian  school  where  the  poet 
was  Professor  of  Tamil.  He  had  come  from  his  Hindu 
home,  and  was  full  of  prejudice  against  Christians.  His 
mother  had  feared  to  let  him  go  among  Christians  lest 
they  would  inject  mind-deluding  medicine  into  a  plantain 
and  persuade  him  to  eat  it,  or  otherwise  tamper  with 
him  and  beguile  him.  So,  fortified  by  warnings,  and 
inclined  himself  to  be  on  guard,  he  approached  Chris- 
tianity cautiously.  He  boarded  with  his  Tamil  professor, 
for  caste  reasons.  He  studied  him  with  a  boy's  keen 
eyes  :  "I  never  heard  him  tell  a  lie,  never  saw  him 
confuse  truth  ;  in  his  God  there  must  be  a  holy  power," 
was  his  conclusion.  That  boy  became  a  man  noted  for 
integrity  of  life.  It  will  not  be  known  till  eternity 
shows  up  the  secrets    of    time,   how  much  our  Church 


God  keeps  the  Count  111 

owes  to  this  one  life,  influenced  at  its  source  by  that 
dear  friend,  who,  while  he  influenced,  never  knew  that 
he  was  doing  anything. 

One  of  the  first  Tamil  scholars  I  knew  was  a  keen 
teacher,  whose  lessons  were  valued  by  all  of  us.  He 
taught  me  in  his  holiday  time,  and  when  I  asked  about 
the  fee  (for  the  hours  were  worth  rupees  to  him),  he 
would  not  hear  of  pay.  "  No,"  he  said,  and  stuck  to  it, 
"it  is  the  way  by  which  I  can  help  you  to  get  quickly 
to  my  people."  This  man  was  won  by  the  poet,  led  by 
him,  as  he  told  us,  "  to  the  Lotus  feet  of  the  Lover  of 
souls." 

Two  out  of  many — God  keeps  the  count — are  enough 
to  prove  the  poet  did  not  live  in  vain.  The  Gospel 
which  made  him  what  he  was,  has  not  come  here  in  vain. 
Nor  have  we  come  in  vain  if  we  may  have  fellowship 
with  our  Lord  in  His  joy,  when  He  sees  of  the  travail  of 
His  soul  even  here,  in  a  sorrowful  land,  where  so  often 
He  has  grief. 

Part  of  the  most  enduring  work  our  poet  did  was 
literary.  He  has  left  books  which  we  can  give  to  the 
most  critical  Hindu,  knowing  that  so  far  as  the  choice 
of  language  is  concerned  it  will  not  repel  him,  but  appeal 
to  the  finer  part  of  him,  and  put  the  message  before  him 
intelligently  and  wdnningly.  Not  long  ago  a  Christian 
schoolmaster  was  travelling  by  train  in  the  same  com- 
partment as  a  Brahman.  He  asked  the  Brahman  if  he 
had  ever  heard  of  Christianity.  For  answer  the  Brahman 
retired  to  the  farther  end  of  the  carriage.  The  Christian 
waited,  then  asked,  "  Do  you  care  for  poetry  ?  "  If  there 
is  one  word  which  charms  and  draws  a  cultured  Hindu 


112  "He  shall  see  of  the  Travail  of  His  Soul  " 

it  is  the  word  poetry.  The  Brahman's  eyes  ghstened. 
The  Cliristian  began  to  chant  stanzas  from  our  poet's 
Pilgrim's  Progress.  The  poem  follows  Indian  rules  of 
art ;  to  the  trained  ear  the  fall  of  its  cadence  is  quite 
perfect.  The  Brahman  listened,  won  to  listen  at  first 
by  the  beauty  of  the  poem.  Sin,  redemption,  Christ's 
life  and  death,  clear  teaching  about  the  way  of  salvation, 
outpourings  of  love  and  devotion, — still  the  Brahman 
listened.  At  last,  after  long  chanting,  broken  by  words 
of  explanation  here  and  there,  the  Christian  stopped. 
"  That  is  Christianity,"  he  said.  The  Brahman  was 
disarmed.  For  the  first  time  he  had  listened  to  "  the 
wooing  note." 

But  looking  back,  as  we  do  now,  to  the  memory  of 
our  poet,  we  think  of  him  most  as  our  friend.  The 
scholar  Hves  by  the  work  he  did  ;  the  friend  lives  on  in 
our  hearts.  The  wise  may  talk  of  East  and  West,  and 
how  neither  can  ever  meet  or  merge,  because  there  will 
always  be  something  between.  In  Christ  there  is  no 
East  and  West  ;  His  love  fuses  the  two  into  one.  That 
old  man  was  one  of  us  ;  we  were  as  one  of  his  own  to 
him.  And  when  we  meet  in  our  real  Home,  where  East 
and  West  are  unspoken  words,  and  all  earth's  divisions 
forgotten,  he  will  welcome  us  as  a  father  would  welcome 
the  children  remembered  name  by  name,  parted  from 
him  for  a  little  while. 


".^M«^ 


■ty*. 


f~- 


-M\  . 


CHAPITER  XVI 
*^Not  Peace,  but  a  Sword" 

THE  two  companions  who  were  turned  back  watched 
their  friend  from  a  distance  when  he  was  baptized. 
One  of  the  two  continued  for  many  years  more  or 
less  in  sympathy  ;  but  he  gradually  drifted.  The  other 
was  "  caught  in  the  delusive  whirlpool  of  the  Vedantic 
philosophy,"  and  became  a  bitter  foe.  Not  long  ago  a 
young  student  from  this  district,  studying  in  Madras, 
was  convinced  of  the  truth  of  Christianity.  He  grew 
more  and  more  earnest,  till  he  was  considered  ripe  for 
baptism.  His  father,  upon  hearing  this,  went  straight  to 
Madras.  He  kept  his  son  with  him  for  a  few  hours, 
then  returned  him  to  the  missionary,  broken.  Sense  of 
honour,  will-power,  all  desire,  had  gone.  No  one  knows 
what  he  did  with  the  boy.  He  returned  to  Tinnevelly, 
satisfied.  This  father  was  the  poet's  friend.  He 
and  his  son  have  dropped  out  of  sight :  we  know  no 
more  of  them.  Those  things,  never  the  mere  physical 
accidents  of  life,  are  the  missionary's  hurts  and  heart- 
breaks.    The  cause  is  found  in  one  word — caste. 

There   is   a   growing   idea   at   home,    caused   by   that 
perilous  habit  of  generahsing  from  an  isolated  incident, 
that  caste  is  losing  its  power  of  grip.       Where  surface 
8 


114  "Not  Peace,  but  a  Sword" 

relations  are  concerned  it  is  true  that  its  vigilance  is 
relaxed.  Education  and  all  civilising  agencies  tend  to- 
wards this.  But  go  deeper,  and  you  find  caste  is  still  a 
forceful  thing,  and  individual  conversion,  where  it  rules, 
still  means  the  knife  at  the  heart. 

A  South  Indian  Christian  paper,  edited  by  a  convert 
from  the  central  citadel  of  Hinduism,  lately  addressed  a 
series  of  questions  bearing  upon  this  subject  to  men  of 
experience,  Indian  and  English,  in  different  parts  of  the 
country.  From  north  to  south  the  answers  were  remark- 
ably similar.  The  consensus  of  opinion  may  be  fairly 
summarised  by  two  answers  to  one  of  the  questions  : 

"  In  order  for  a  Christian  to  retain  his  caste,  is  it 
necessary  that  he  should  in  any  way  take  part  in  the 
worship  of  idols,  demons,  or  false  gods  ?  " 

"  Generally  speaking,  it  is  obligatory  for  a  Hindu  to 
worship  idols  in  order  to  retain  caste." — Hon.  Kanwar 
Sir  Harnam  Singh,  K.C.S.L,  Ahluwalia. 

"  A  Hindu  might,  by  doing  nothing,  retain  his  caste,  at 
least  for  a  considerable  length  of  time  ;  but  if  he  moved 
in  a  distinctly  Christian  direction  he  would  lose  caste." — 
Archdeacon  Caley,  Travancore. 

A  second  question  was  :  "A  Hindu  becomes  a  Chris- 
tian, and  is  baptized.  He  claims  that  he  can  live  a 
Christian  life  in  his  orthodox  Hindu  home.  In  your 
opinion  is  it  practicable  ?     Is  it  even  possible  ?  " 

The  answers,  EngUsh  and  Indian,  were  decisive  : 

"  A  baptized  Christian  might  very  well  live  a  Christian 
life  in  a  Hindu  home  if  he  were  given  freedom  to  do  so. 


The  Mouth  of  two  or  three  Witnesses    115 

But  in  this  part  of  India  the  attempt  would  not  be 
tolerated.  If  lie  attempted  it,  lie  would  either  be  ex- 
pelled or  speedily  made  away  with." — Rev.  Edward  P. 
Rice,  L.M.S.,  Bangalore. 

"  No  ;  the  mere  act  of  baptism  is  looked  upon  by  the 
Hindu  as  putting  a  man  out  of  caste.  A  baptized  man  is 
considered  as  having  gone  out  of  the  Hindu  fold." — L.  C. 
Wilhams  Pillai,  Inspector  of  Schools,  Northern  Circars. 

"  He  cannot  live  a  consistent  Christian  life." — Mr.  P. 
Krishna  Murti,  Vizagapatam. 

"  No  Hindu  will  ever  be  allowed  to  lead  a  consistent 
Christian  life."— Gangaram  Pantulu,  B.A.,  Sub-Registrar, 
Bimlipatam. 

"  No,  he  will  be  outcasted.  Theoretically,  he  can,  but 
no  one  has  yet  succeeded  in  the  attempt." — Dr.  Ramachan- 
drayya,  M.D.,  L.R.,  C.I.E.,  etc.,  Madras. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  live  in  Hindu  homes  as  a  consistent 
Christian.  From  a  Hindu  standpoint  such  persons  as 
lead  a  consistent  Christian  Hfe  in  their  Hindu  homes 
would  be  surely  outcasted." — J.  Vekanna,  B.A.,  Head 
Master,  High  School,  BimUpatam. 

"  If  anything  is  impossible  under  the  sun,  it  is  this." — 
Mr.  J.  M.  Bhaktul,  Head  Master,  High  School,  Chatrapur. 

The  position  was  fairly  stated  in  a  critique  on  The 
Advanced  Text-Book  of  Hindu  Religion  and  Ethics :  "It 
appears  to  me  that  most  Hindus  are  prepared  to  be 
tolerant  when  principles  are  merely  being  discussed.  But 
when  it  is  a  matter  of  leaving  a  false  position  to  take 


116  "Not  Peace,  but  a  Sword" 

up  one  rationally  conceived  and  spiritually  desired,  to 
leave  Hinduism  for  Christianity,  we  can  no  longer  expect 
an  indifferent  toleration.  Neo-Hinduism  is  ready  enougli 
to  make  a  cheap  identification  of  our  religion  with,  its 
own,  and  to  hail  Jesus  Christ  as  an  Eastern  Muni  and  a 
Yogi  of  great  powers  ;  but  the  truth  o£  its  heart  comes 
out  when  a  Hindu  claims  to  exercise  his  right  of  indi- 
vidual freedom,  and  to  follow  that  Christ  in  the  way  He 
has  ordained." 

These  extracts  form  a  platform  ;  the  people  in  our 
story  move  up  and  down  upon  it. 

After  the  disturbance  which  followed  Victory's  con- 
version several  lads  who  seemed  genuine  in  desire  to 
become  Christians  came  forward  as  inquirers.  One  of 
these  was  a  young  man  who  had  been  influenced  at 
school.  His  relatives  knew  of  it,  and  arranged  a  marriage 
for  him  with  a  speed  which  betrayed  their  alarm.  His 
distress  at  the  thought  of  causing  them  distress  increased 
as  the  day  drew  nearer.  His  mother's  beseeching  face, 
his  father's  stern  silence,  weighed  upon  him  till  his  very 
walk  showed  it.     He  stooped  Hke  an  old  man. 

The  day  was  fixed.  The  house  was  adorned.  Strings 
of  jessamine  fastened  from  roof  to  roof  and  pillar  to 
pillar  filled  the  air  with  heavy  scent.  And  the  boy  was 
entangled  as  if  the  strings  had  been  wound  i.bout  his 
soul,  and  dazed  as  if  their  scent  possessed  some  fatal 
miasma. 

On  the  evening  before  the  wedding  night  we  felt 
impelled  to  go  to  the  house  and  try  to  see  him. 

When  we  arrived  there  it  was  dusk,  and  the  court- 
yard, hghted  with  many  lamps,  was    oppressively  hot. 


Irresolute  117 

Servants  were  rushing  about,  friends  were  shouting 
directions.  Children  were  playing  in  the  midst  of  the 
confusion.  Overhead,  the  red  and  white  strips  of  the 
awning  were  interlaced  with  flowers  withered  already. 
Piles  of  flower  balls  lay  in  every  available  corner.  All 
the  lamps  were  smoking  ;  not  a  breath  of  pure  air  could 
get  in.  One  half  wondered  then,  as  one  waited  in  that 
suffocating  atmosphere,  how  anything  could  survive  in 
it.  If  will-power  withered  with  the  flowers,  who  could 
wonder  ? 

No  one  took  any  notice  of  us  ;  we  were  lost  in  the 
crowd.  After  we  had  waited  awhile  the  bridegroom- 
elect  walked  in,  and  we  went  out  together  into  the  cool, 
clear  air. 

It  was  impossible  to  talk  in  the  street.  We  went 
straight  to  the  bungalow  ;  the  boy  followed.  The  people 
were  kept  from  thinking  about  us. 

Then  for  an  hour  Mr.  Walker  talked  with  him,  while 
Mrs.  Walker  and  we  other  workers  waited  on  God  in 
the  next  room.  It  was  given  to  us  in  that  hour  to  feel 
something  of  the  value,  the  immeasurable  value  of  a 
single  soul. 

The  sound  of  voices  ceased.  There  was  a  long  silence. 
Then  the  door  opened  ;  we  heard  the  boy  go.  He  had 
gone  back  irresolute. 

An  irresolute  boy  among  resolute  men  and  women 
has  a  poor  chance.  A  few  hours  later  the  prehminary 
noises  attending  a  wedding  of  importance  told  us  he  had 
yielded. 

But  what  if  he  had  not  ?  One  stops  at  a  loss  for 
words  to  show  what  one  can  almost  see  :   the  devastation, 


118  "Not  Peace,  but  a  Sword" 

distress,  disgrace  ;  the  immediate  cessation  of  the  marriage 
ceremonies  ;  the  indignation  of  the  bride's  relatives  at 
what  they  would  regard  as  an  insupportable  insult. 
Above  all  there  would  be  the  grief  and  horror  of  the 
parents  ;  the  bitter,  uncontrollable  frenzied  excitement 
of  every  one  of  the  several  hundred  relations,  and  the 
scorn  of  the  few  thousand  neighbours  who  made  up  that 
boy's  world.  It  is  not  needful  to  speak  of  physical 
dangers  and  possible  cruelties,  because  he  might  escape 
these  by  flight.  We  only  mention  unavoidable  cer- 
tainties. 

The  thought  of  it  all  unnerved  the  boy.  The  word 
was  not  spoken  that  night  or  next  day.  So  the  follow- 
ing night  the  conch- shell's  blare  and  the  tomtom's 
beat  insisted  persistently,  wearily,  that  his  soul  was  en- 
tangled indeed  ;   the  seductive  influence  had  worked. 

We  saw  him  a  few  months  later.  The  schoolboy 
carelessness  had  passed.  He  looked  helpless  and  miser- 
able. In  the  South  all  social  ceremonies  are  connected 
with  idolatry  through  the  medium  of  caste  customs, 
which  have  religious  meanings.  So  the  marriage  had  in- 
volved compromise.     He  was  a  hypocrite,  and  he  knew  it. 

Day  by  day  in  fulfilling  his  duties  he  found  himself 
more  and  more  embarrassed.  As  a  boy  his  conduct  had 
not  been  much  observed.  As  a  man  he  must  perform 
the  rites  pertaining  to  the  husband.  Direct  idolatry 
might  be  evaded  for  a  while,  but  the  trident  painted 
every  morning  freshly  on  his  forehead  related  to  Vishnu. 
He  called  it  his  caste  mark,  in  feeble  palliation,  but 
names  do  not  alter  facts.  He  felt  like  a  snared  animal 
struggling  in  his  snare. 


Entangled  119 

Gradually  this  feeling  passed,  and  gave  place  to 
inertia.  He  cared  for  nothing,  would  not  let  his  little 
wife  learn,  went  through  idolatrous  routine  untroubled. 
Sometimes  he  came  to  the  bungalow  in  a  shamefaced, 
shuffling  sort  of  fashion.  But  this  ceased  after  a  year 
or  so.  A  coma  settles  upon  the  soul  that  however 
sorely  pressed  disobeys,  and  goes  on  disobeying. 

Most  missionaries  could  duplicate  this  story.  It  is 
such  a  common  story,  it  seems  superfluous  to  tell  it. 
But  we  have  told  it  because  it  is  so  common.  If  it 
were  sporadic  it  would  not  be  worth  telling. 


CHAPTER   XVII 
**At  Variance" 

OUR  Lord  said,  "  Not  peace,  but  a  sword  ;  for  I  am 
come  to  set  a  man  at  variance  against  his  father, 
and  the  daughter  against  her  mother."  Do  you 
feel  that  there  must  be  something  wrong  if  loyalty  to 
Christ  colHdes  with  "  loyalty  to  God's  first  law  of  human 
order,  obedience  in  the  home  "  ?  Something  wrong  in  the 
missionary's  presentation  of  the  Gospel  when  its  accept- 
ance produces  such  colhsion  ?  Surely  there  is  something 
wrong,  something  wholly  out  of  course,  a  discord  in 
the  harmony  which  sounds  through  all  the  keys.  But 
is  the  discord  in  the  music,  or  in  our  rendering  of  it  ? 
"  If  thy  friend  which  is  as  thine  own  soul  entice  thee 
secretly,  saying,  Let  us  go  and  serve  other  gods  .  .  . 
thou  shalt  not  consent  unto  him."  This  chord  of  the 
seventh  perplexes  us,  but  what  if  the  music  were  incom- 
plete without  it  ?  Resolve  it  properly,  and  you  find  the 
chord  which  follows  explains  it ;  your  ear  is  satisfied. 
Dare  we  leave  the  arresting  note  unstruck  when  we  see 
it  written  in  the  manuscript  ?  The  refusal,  however 
gentle,  to  "  consent  "  comes  into  direct  collision — must  in 
the  nature  of  things,  if  you  are  a  Hindu — with  the  will 
of   father,    mother,    friend   who   is    as    your    own    soul. 

120 


Lotus. 


"I    WISH    IT    WERE   NOT    WrONG  "  121 

While  the  power  of  Hinduism  remains  mibroken,  there 
must  often  be  the  sense  of  a  false  note  somewhere,  as 
if  the  instrument  called  life  were  out  of  tune. 

Lotus  became  illuminated  by  hearing  that  God's  light 
shone  for  her.  So  few  things  shone  for  her.  I  realised 
how  few  when  one  day,  while  we  were  with  her,  the 
sound  of  a  tambourine  and  a  fiddle  out  in  the  street  made 
her  eyes  dance.  It  was  the  men's  Itinerating  Band 
which  had  come  to  her  village,  and  was  gathering  a 
congregation  by  singing  in  the  street.  "  Oh,  if  I  could 
only  see  them  !  "  cried  Lotus  ;  and  flinging  widows'  rules 
to  the  wmds,  she  ran  out  into  the  courtyard  with  the 
eagerness  of  a  child,  and  looked  over  the  wall,  and  for 
three  blissful  minutes  drank  in  joy.  "  But  it  was  so 
wrong  of  me  !  "  and  poor  Lotus  hid  her  face  ashamed,' 
as,  startled  at  her  audacity,  she  crouched  in  the  darkest 
corner  of  the  dark  little  room.  "  I  forgot  I  ought  never 
to  have  looked.  But  oh,  I  did  want  so  much  to  see  ! 
I  wish  it  vrere  not  \yrong." 

Five  years  of  repression  of  every  natural  instinct  had 
not  quenched  the  love  of  hfe  in  her.  The  human  within 
us  is  a  strange,  strong  thing.  Compress  it,  it  eludes  you, 
and  escapes  you,  and  disappears,  to  reappear  as  it  was 
made  at  first.  Lotus  had  been  fashioned  for  delight.  A 
small  mud-walled  courtyard,  two  small  windowless  rooms, 
no  outlook,  nothing  but  a  strip  of  ground  about  two 
yards  long  behind,  is  it  much  to  serve  for  all  your 
world  ?  Lotus  at  seventeen  is  hot  with  life.  Sometimes 
the  low  laugh  breaks  bounds,  and  ripples  out,  but  always 
it  is  quickly  checked,  for  Lotus  is  a  widow. 

She    never    really   was   a   wife.     Looking   back,    it    is 


122  "At  Variance" 

confused.  Crimson  silk  raiment  edged  with  gold,  num- 
bers of  new  and  glorious  jewels,  flowers  round  her  neck 
and  in  her  hair — the  scent  of  jessamine  brings  it  all  back 
— cakes,  delicious  unhmited  cakes  ;  rides  in  a  decorated 
car,  with  someone  sitting  opposite  and  little  children  at 
her  knee,  while  men  in  front  blew  conch-shells,  and  men 
behind  clanged  cymbals,  and  all  the  delightful  abandon 
of  noise  made  a  sea  of  sound  about  her.  And  in  the 
evening  many  lights,  and  the  subtle  perfume  of  sandal- 
w^ood,  and  the  flower-ball  game,  while  musicians  twanged 
and  sang  their  never-ending  song,  and  otto  of  roses  was 
sprinkled  about,  and  everyone  laughed  and  was  glad. 
Then  suddenly  a  thunderclap,  a  darkening  down  of 
everything,  for  she  had  become  a  widow.  And  the 
childish  heart  was  frightened  at  first,  for  everyone 
looked  at  her  and  cried  ;  and  then,  when  they  snatched 
her  silks  away,  and  tore  off  her  jewels,  all  but  two, 
spared  in  a  moment  of  pity, — then  she  became  rebelhous. 
But  they  told  her  it  was  just  her  fate.  Who  fights  fate  ? 
Be  quiet,  they  said.  And  they  gave  her  poorer  food,  as 
a  punishment,  she  thought,  which  hurt  her  sore  Httle 
heart  the  more,  for  she  had  not  meant  to  do  anything 
wrong  ;  and  she  felt  misunderstood.  So  all  life's  play 
passed  far  from  her,  and  all  hfe's  sunshine  too. 

Three  years  afterwards  we  saw  her  for  the  first  time, 
and  told  her  about  the  sunshine  stored  up  for  her.  At 
first  it  seemed  too  good  to  be  true.  But  when  at  last 
she  understood,  her  heart  lost  all  its  restlessness.  The 
light  brings  peace. 

Then,  as  it  will,  the  fight  shone  out  on  any  within 
reach.       The  first  to  feel  it  was  Brilliance,  her  cousin, 


Brilliance  certainly  is  sulky. 


"Let  God's  idea  grow"  123 

a  childless  and  mucli  despised  young  wife,  who,  though 
naturally  bright,  has  become  depressed  and  soured  ;  for 
her  life  is  dominated  by  a  tyrannical  mother-in-law,  who 
considers  BrilHance  a  failure  and  hardly  worth  her  rice. 

Brilhance  certainly  is  sulky,  but  we  felt  that  what 
would  sweeten  her  was  just  what  had  lighted  Lotus'  life, 
and  this  was  denied  her.  "What  has  she  to  do  with 
reading  ?  "  said  the  mother-in-law.  Lotus  quietly  shone 
on  her  then,  told  her  stories  about  Jesus,  interested  her 
in  Him,  got  her  to  beheve  He  loved  her,  though  her 
mother-in-law  did  not.  For  a  while  she  was  unhindered 
in  this  gentle  ministry. 

Timidly,  greatly  fearing  repulse,  the  Hght  began  to 
shine  further.  Not  that  Lotus  could  take  it  anywhere. 
The  only  place  where  she  can  shine  is  just  the  one  place 
where  she  is,  a  room  about  eight  feet  square.  But 
sometimes  aunts  and  cousins  come,  and  she  does  not  hide 
her  light. 

One  of  those  aunts  is  our  friend,  a  motherly-hearted 
woman.  One  of  our  boys  was  very  ill.  We  wanted  a 
special  herb  to  make  medicine  for  him.  It  was  not  to 
be  bought,  but  she  had  it,  and  hearing  how  we  needed 
it,  she  sent  it  to  us,  refusing  payment,  "  for  friendship's 
sake,"  she  said.  There  was  a  time  when  she  was 
touched ;  she  saw  the  beauty  of  our  Lord,  and  was 
attracted  by  it.  But  her  desire  to  know  Him  did  not  go 
deep  enough.  "  I  am  a  believing  one,"  she  says,  "  like 
Lotus,"  and  sitting  on  her  mat,  with  her  dear  little 
daughter  beside  her,  just  as  she  sits  in  the  photo,  she 
is  fond  of  arguing  at  length  that  to  be  an  inwardly 
beUeving  one  is  quite  enough.     "  You  see  no  idol  marks 


124  ''At  Variance" 

on  my  forehead.  I  never  do  anything  idolatrous.  Every 
morning  I  pray  '  Have  mercy  on  me,  0  Jesus  Lord  ! 
make  my  way  prosperous.'  What  more  could  He 
require  of  me  ?  " 

But  one  evening  alone  in  the  moonlight,  the  choice  of 
her  heart  was  made  manifest.  It  was  the  night  of  the 
street  fire  festival.  Each  householder  worshipped  apart. 
She  stood  outside  her  gate  with  the  wood  for  making 
the  fire  in  her  hand,  and  offerings  for  sacrifice.  She 
knew  it  was  all  vain  ;  but  if  she  refused,  her  caste  would 
hear  of  it ;  she  would  lose  her  acknowledged  position, 
and  be  looked  upon  askance.  So  she  stood  there  in  the 
moonlight,  no  firelight  yet  with  its  earth  red  came  into 
conflict  with  that  white  light.  And  she  weighed  in 
the  balance  Christ  and  caste.  Then  she  stooped  and 
lighted  the  fire. 

And  as  it  blazed  she  turned  and  saw  we  were  standing 
close  to  her.  She  started  ;  she  had  not  expected  to  see 
us  there.  We  usually  leave  the  place  earlier  ;  but  the 
long  streets  v/ith  their  rows  of  fires  had  been  full  of 
detaining  things,  for  the  magic  of  the  East  comes  out  in 
festival  times  at  night. 

The  lane  where  her  house  stands  is  oft'  the  street. 
Hers  was  the  only  fire  in  it.  And  the  palm  behind 
rose  black  like  a  plume,  and  the  archway  under  it 
framed  the  fire,  and  the  moonUght  filtered  through  the 
palm  and  tried  to  put  the  firelight  out. 

We  stood  there  silent  for  a  while.  The  woman 
was  bending  over  the  fire,  her  face  was  working. 
We  could  see  it  by  the  flame.  Then  it  set.  "I 
have    chosen,"    she    said ;    "a    thousand    words — what 


4 


4 


"The  live  Pain  burneth  like  a  Lamp"     125 

will  they  do  ?  "  But  it  was  not  the  time  for  a  thousand 
words. 

After  this  it  was  more  difficult  for  Lotus  ;  but  still, 
while  any  would  Hsten,  she  spoke,  till  her  hberty  passed 
as  life's  play  had  passed,  very  suddenly. 

An  idolatrous  rite  was  in  progress.  Lotus  refused  to 
take  part  in  it.  She  had  often  talked  to  her  mother  and 
father,  but  they  had  taken  no  notice.  Now  it  seemed 
to  dawn  upon  them  that  this  "  Jesus  doctrine  talk  "  was 
more  than  talk,  and  they  shut  her  up  in  a  small  back 
room,  and  locked  the  door. 

Once  we  had  asked  her  whether,  beloved  as  she  is  by 
her  parents,  it  would  be  possible  for  her  to  be  baptized 
and  live  at  home  as  a  Christian.  There  is  a  deep 
square  well  at  the  end  of  the  street  where  her  home  is. 
She  pointed  out  in  the  well's  direction  :  "My  parents 
would  rather  see  me  under  water,  dead,  than  a  Christian." 
Then  her  brown  eyes  filled  with  trouble  :  "It  is  not  only 
that ;  it  would  grieve  my  mother.  Because  I  am  a 
widow  she  never  goes  out  of  the  courtyard  except  before 
daylight  and  after  dark.  But  she  never  taunts  me ; 
she  loves  me.  Her  love  holds  me  back  from  grieving 
her." 

For  weeks  after  that  open  confession  we  saw  nothing 
of  Lotus,  and  heard  nothing  of  her.  Then  one  evening 
two  of  us  were  allowed  in  for  a  minute.  Poor  weary 
Lotus  ;  she  was  sitting  in  the  back,  looking  out.  She 
had  been  allowed  to  sow  a  few  seeds  in  the  strip  of 
ground,  and  she  called  it  her  garden,  and  found  pleasure 
in  it.  Her  Bible  had  been  taken  from  her.  She  was 
not  allowed  to  kneel  in  prayer, — not  that  it  mattered,  her 


126  "At  Variance" 

soul  could  kneel, — and  she  was  forbidden  ever  to  speak 
of  Christ.  Her  mother's  love  had  "  turned  sour."  Her 
father  was  ashamed  of  her.  Her  relations  constantly- 
upbraided  her.  Her  widowhood,  they  reminded  her,  was 
sufficient  disgrace  for  the  family,  without  any  added 
affront.  Was  she  the  only  one  going  to  heaven  ?  Her 
pride,  they  said,  was  most  astonishing,  and  in  a  childless 
widow  pecuharly  revolting.  There  was  only  time  to  say 
a  few  words  of  sympathy  and  encouragement,  and  to  urge 
her  to  look  up  through  all,  and  show  love  through  all. 
And  then  the  mother  called,  and  we  had  to  hasten  away. 

There  was  a  season  of  friendliness  after  this.  We 
were  allowed  to  visit  her.  But  we  were  always  shadowed 
by  some  member  of  the  family,  and  no  Bible-reading  was 
allowed.  This  small  indulgence,  however,  touched  her 
very  much.  "  My  parents  love  me,  they  do  love  me," 
she  whispered  once,  when  for  a  moment  the  watchful- 
ness was  relaxed.  "  Oh,  it  is  hard  to  grieve  them.  It 
is  like  treading  on  my  own  mother's  heart." 

The  parents  are  pleasant  people.  We  had  a  long  talk 
with  them  one  day.  They  told  us  Lotus  had  pined  hke 
a  flower  deprived  of  air  and  light  when  they  shut  her  up 
and  refused  to  let  us  visit  her.  They  did  not  like  to  see 
her  so  cast  down,  and  they  had  risked  the  scorn  of  the 
street  by  letting  us  see  her  again.  Would  we  not  on 
our  side  be  thoughtful  for  them  ?  If  our  influence  led 
to  her  breaking  caste,  she  must  be  confined  to  that  one 
small  room  till  she  is  old  and  wise.  Let  her  follow  her 
own  customs  and  bring  no  dishonour  on  the  caste. 
Then  all  would  be  well.  We  felt  our  position  acutely. 
The  parents'  unusual  frankness  naturally  made  it  all  the 


One  cannot  endure  if  one  does  not  See     127 

harder  for  us  to  keep  true  to  the  one  object  for  which, 
as  Christ's  messengers,  we  were  there.  We  explained  to 
them  how  the  matter  stood,  pleaded  with  them  to  let 
Lotus  obey  her  conscience,  and  follow  her  Master.  But 
in  vain. 

"  God  bless  the  missionaries  ;  give  them  souls,"  you 
pray  :  God  hears  your  prayer,  and  gives  us  souls.  Then, 
if  we  are  working  among  those  for  whom  following  Christ 
means,  as  it  meant  in  earlier  days,  Variance,  there  must 
be  the  burning  of  the  fire  which  our  Lord  saw  already 
kindled. 

"  Amma,"  said  Victory  who  had  visited  Lotus  with 
us,  "  it  brings  all  my  own  sorrow  back."  Then  she  told 
us  that  what  held  her  through  was  the  verse  given  her 
before  she  came  out :  "  '  ZTe  endured  as  seeing  Him  who 
is  invisible.^  One  cannot  endure  if  one  does  not  see. 
That  strong  verse  rested  me." 

Her  words  brought  back  the  past.  We  remember 
how  there  was  storm  all  about.  The  greyhaired  mother 
lay  on  the  floor  and  beat  her  head  on  her  child's  feet, 
then  caught  them  in  her  hands,  "  0  queen  !  My  jewel ! 
My  mother  !  "  she  cried,  using  India's  last  love  word  as 
she  broke  into  love's  lamentation.  Then  as  her  child 
tried  to  raise  her  and  kiss  her,  a  sudden  fury  seized  her. 
"  Defiled  !  Defiled  !  "  she  screamed  enraged,  "  would  you 
stab  me  with  your  mouth  ?  Ay,  stab  here  !  stab  here  !  " 
and  she  tore  her  garment  from  her  breast — "  here  where 
your  head  lay,  my  baby — stab  here  !  "  For  seventeen 
years  they  had  slept  on  one  mat,  mother  and  child 
together.  They  had  shared  one  pillow,  for  they  were 
one.     Did   a   thorn   prick   the    daughter's    foot  ?    it  had 


128  "At  Variance" 

first  pierced  the  mother's  eye.  This  is  a  Tamil  description 
of  their  love  for  one  another.  Now  that  daughter  had 
to  choose  through  all  her  pain  :  should  she  stab  that 
mother's  heart  with  her  mouth,  or  drive  another  nail 
into  the  Hand  that  bore  while  it  beckoned  her  ?  0  God, 
when  shall  the  need  for  such  choice  utterly  cease  ?  Can 
the  world  show  anywhere  a  harder  thing  than  this  ? 
Are  all  who  pray  prepared  for  it  ?  It  would  seem  that 
some  are  not.  Perhaps  this  is  natural.  Would  we  ever 
rejoice  in  a  victory  won  if  we  clearly  saw  the  battlefield, 
where  the  wounded  cry  when  the  slaughter  is  made  ? 
We  honour  the  martyrs  of  course,  and  count  their 
age  glorious.  But  then  we  forget  what  it  meant  to 
burn. 

Sometimes,  not  content  with  the  negative  chill  of 
silence,  friends  write  disapproving  of  "  such  interference 
with  family  life,"  and  suggest  a  desirable  compromise, 
and  offer  prudent  counsel.  "  It  is  in  truth  an  easy  thing 
to  stand  aloof  from  pain,  and  lavish  exhortation  and 
advice  on  one  sore  vexed  by  it."  But  when  every  nerve 
runs  sore,  for  somehow  you  suffered,  you  could  not  help 
it,  with  both  sides  at  once,  what  you  need  is  different. 
Would  those  who  so  write,  we  wonder,  have  us  teach 
that  commands  may  change  with  changing  times  ? — that 
we  may  follow  the  Crucified  comfortably  now — without 
His  Cross  ? 

Thank  God  for  the  comrades  who  never  are  chill. 
Their  loving  heart-warming  sympathy  reaches  these  souls 
in  their  great  need,  and  helps  them  to  be  patient  and 
brave.  It  is  such  a  long  patience.  Only  last  week  I 
saw  the  mother  whose  pitiful  "  Stab  here  !   Stab  here  !  " 


"Not  only  .  .  .  But  also"  129 

had  followed  her  child  for  nearly  seven  years.  "  Amma," 
I  said,  longing  to  comfort  her,  "  you  have  two  dear  little 
grandchildren  now ;  and  your  daughter  wants  to  welcome 
you  ;  and  your  new  son  will  welcome  you.  There  is 
room  in  their  home  waiting  for  you.  Your  two  little 
grandchildren  call."  She  tore  at  her  scanty  grey  locks, 
and  struck  herself  hard  with  her  thin  old  hands  :  '*  She 
whom  you  name  is  no  daughter  of  mine.  He  whom  you 
name  is  no  son.  Grandchildren  ?  I  do  not  hear  them 
call  !  "  And  she  tore  so  ruthlessly  at  her  hair  that  lest 
she  should  tear  it  all  out,  we  fled. 

This  story,  Hke  the  last,  is  very  ordinary.  Such  is  the 
atmosphere  in  which  we  sing  our  song.  By  reason  of 
the  multitude  of  oppressions  the  oppressed  are  made  to 
cry  ;  they  cry  out  by  reason  of  the  arm  of  the  mighty  : 
God  giveth  songs  in  the  night.  Cry  and  song  inter- 
mingle in  the  hard  prose  of  hfe  as  in  the  Psalms  :  "0  my 
God,  my  soul  is  cast  down  within  me.  ...  In  the  night 
His  song  shall  be  with  me." 

These  facts  call  us  to  prayer.  First  to  prayer  of  a 
national  sort  for  the  fall  of  the  systems  which  create  the 
conditions.  Then  to  prayer  which  may  be  very  personal. 
There  are  many  Hke  Lotus.  They  need  energy  and 
grand  triumphant  faith.  They  need  no  less  the  grace  of 
a  quiet  love  that  never  retaliates. 

Lastly,  and  most  hardly,  we  ask  any  to  whom  it  is 
given  not  only  to  beheve  but  also  to  suffer,  to  pray  for 
those  who  are  so  hindered  that  they  may  press  on  to  the 
heights  of  God,  though  the  flints  cut  sharp  and  the  feet 
bleed. 

There  are  times  in  life  when  God  gives  us  a  choice. 


130  "At  Variance" 

Two  ways  open.  Botli  lead  homeward.  But  one  is 
steeper  tlian  the  other.  The  stones  cut  sharper.  It  is 
far  more  unknown.  There  is  an  impression — this  is  the 
way,  and  we  walk  in  it.  At  first  it  seems  a  foolish 
choice,  fruitless  of  any  gain.  But  afterwards  comes  the 
consciousness  that  had  we  chosen  otherwise  we  should 
have  missed  for  ever  the  rarest  gift  of  joy.  "Where 
grows  the  golden  grain  ?  Where  faith  ?  Where  sym- 
pathy ?     In  a  furrow  cut  by  pain." 

There  are  those  who  thus  have  chosen,  not  pain  for 
pain's  sake,  but  the  path  that  had  to  mean  it,  drawn  by 
the  passing  of  one  before  them  up  that  way.  There  are 
those  to  whom  there  is  no  choice.  The  upward  way 
must  be  the  way  that  hurts  the  feet.  Who  can  help 
them  up  that  way  ?  Surely  only  those  who  themselves 
are  walking  in  it.  Theirs  must  be  the  sympathy  that 
understands  and  braces,  the  faith  that  cheers  like  a  song. 
For  heart  may  faint  and  questions  crowd,  "  Is  the  Word 
true  ?  Shall  the  faith  stand  ?  Is  the  work  worth  such 
woe  as  this  ?     Can  the  day  recompense  the  night  ?  " 

"  Fight  on  and  keep  your  hearts  aUve  ! 

I  have  gone  through  where  ye  must  go, 
I  have  seen  i^ast  the  agony, 
I  behold  God  in  heaven  and  strive." 

And  Christ  walks  with  you  even  now  while  the  flints  cut 
sharp  and  the  feet  bleed. 

Are  such  tales  too  sorrowful  to  tell  ?  Should  we 
suppress  the  sound  of  the  cry  lest  it  hurt  the  too 
sensitive  ear  ?  But  the  Sword  means  this  :  Variance 
means  this.  It  is  the  existence  of  this  attitude, 
this  refusal  to  allow  freedom  of  conscience   where   the 


Lotus'  student  cousin,  for  whom  confession  would  mean'  Vai-ianet 


More  involved  than  gathering  Flowers     131 

freedom  would  clash  with  caste,  and  the  resultant 
strain  of  a  drawing  in  opposite  ways  where  two  loves 
cannot  but  be  opposite  in  their  constraining,  which 
cements  the  stones  together  in  the  walls  of  the  Shah 
Najaf.  Should  you  not  know  about  it  ?  You  see  Christ 
crowned,  jewels  in  His  diadem,  wreaths  of  victory 
heaped  about  His  feet.  We  see  the  vision  too,  and  it 
inspires  us. 

But  that  we  may  the  sooner  see  it,  not  by  faith 
only  but  in  splendid  reahty,  let  us  follow  with  more 
sympathy  all  that  happens  in  the  deep  mine  under- 
ground, and  in  the  workshop  where  the  jewels  must  be 
chased.  And  as  for  the  wreaths,  let  us  understand  there 
is  more  involved  than  gathering  flowers.  "  God's  choicest 
wreaths  are  alwavs  wet  with  tears." 


CHAPTER   XVIII 
*^A11  These  Things" 

IT  may  be  that  the  hindrance  to  God's  working 
mightily  towards  the  demoUtion  of  the  Shah  Najaf 
is  to  be  found  in  us.  There  may  be  weakness, 
compromise,  lack  of  determination  to  keep  the  winning 
of  souls  to  the  front,  the  use  of  unconsecrated  means, 
unsanctified  ways  of  getting  money,  unconverted  workers. 
There  may  be  an  absence  of  identification  with  the  people 
for  whose  sake  we  are  here,  an  unconscious  aloofness  not 
apostohc.  Perhaps  our  love  has  cooled.  Perhaps  we 
know  little  of  the  power  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  hardly 
expect  to  see  souls  saved  here  and  now,  and  are  not 
broken  down  before  the  Lord  because  we  see  so  few.  God 
forgive  us  and  make  us  far  more  in  earnest,  and  fill  as 
more  and  more  with  His  own  burning  passion  for  souls. 

Often  here,  as  elsewhere  probably,  those  who  respond 
to  the  teaching  are  those  for  whom  obedience  is  very 
difficult ;  while  those  who  are  perfectly  free  to  obey,  and 
who  could  by  their  influence  do  immensely  more  than 
the  young  girl  or  lad,  care  nothing,  see  nothing  in  the 
Gospel  to  stir  them  to  inquiry.  In  India  certainly 
youth  is  the  time  for  spiritual  decision.  But  it  is 
just   to   the   youth   of   the   land   that   action   is   so   im- 


In  the  Rest-House  133 

possible.  Sometimes  this  contrary  aspect  of  things  is 
very  evident ;  a  page  from  itinerating  life  aiiords  many 
illustrations. 

We  spent  a  week  lately  in  an  outlying  town  which 
has  never  known  a  convert.  We  stayed  in  the  native 
rest-house,  a  small  stone  building  surrounded  by  a 
roughly  kept  jessamine  garden.  One  small  room  was 
lent  to  us,  the  back  half  of  which  served  as  kitchen  and 
the  front  as  living  room.  The  two  halves  opened  on 
each  other,  after  the  fashion  of  a  London  drawing-room, 
only  the  arch  between  was  not  fitted  with  folding-doors. 
We  had  one  door,  a  huge  affair,  hung  so  that  you 
could  see  through  the  cracks  between  wall  and  wood. 
Sometimes  when  we  were  very  tired,  and  yearned  for 
unobserved  repose,  we  used  to  shut  the  door.  But  there 
were  those  cracks  and  many  holes.  So  that  plan  failed. 
Then  we  stuffed  cracks  and  holes  with  newspaper,  which 
lasted  for  a  while.  But  the  temptation  usually  proved 
too  great  to  be  resisted  ;  the  paper  would  be  poked  out, 
and  an  eye  fitted  carefully  to  each  hole,  and  a  perpen- 
dicular row  of  eyes  adjusted  to  each  crack  enjoyed  the 
situation. 

We  found  this  one  room,  double  though  it  was,  rather 
small  and  smoky,  and  asked  if  we  might  overflow  into 
the  next.  But  they  told  us  it  belonged  to  the  idol  to 
whom  the  rest-house  was  dedicated,  and  that  as  the  god 
himself  dwelt  in  the  next  room,  we  could  not.  The 
third  and  last  room  was  a  kitchen,  fitted  with  enormous 
caldrons  ;  for  every  afternoon  some  scores  of  poor  people 
were  fed  there  ;  so  we  could  not  use  that  room  either. 
Our  cooking  would  have  desecrated  even  beggars'  rice. 


134  "All  these  Things" 

Those  days  in  the  rest-house  were  full  of  entertain- 
ment. To  anyone  who  enjoys  new  experiences  I  would  say, 
go  and  live  behind  the  scenes  for  awhile — if  you  get  the 
chance — in  an  Indian  rest-house.  The  manner  of  hos- 
pitality was  simple.  Each  recognised  beggar,  and  any 
wayfarer  who  cared  to  claim  the  charity,  went  up  to  the 
verandah  and  held  out  a  leaf  cup,  made  of  palm  leaf 
folded  and  tied  with  its  fibre  at  each  end.  The  half- 
liquid  food  was  ladled  into  this.  Then  the  recipient  re- 
tired to  a  quiet  place  in  the  garden,  and  squatting  behind 
a  bush,  if  possible,  enjoyed  the  luxury  of  feeding  unob- 
served. All  sorts  and  conditions  of  people  spent  their 
leisurely  afternoons  in  that  garden  and  on  the  verandah. 
Sometimes  bejewelled  children,  looking  most  unbeggarlike, 
v7ould  come  and  carry  ofE  food  for  their  relations. 

Feeding  and  being  fed  seem  to  be  occupations  con- 
ducive to  good  temper.  There  could  not  have  been  a 
pleasanter  community  to  dwell  among.  They  accepted 
us  as  their  guests  with  guest  rights,  and  never  appeared 
to  feel  us  in  the  way.  We  used  to  sit  together  in 
the  end  room  in  a  circle  on  the  floor,  after  the  day's 
work  was  done,  while  the  two  elderly  men  who  kept  the 
place  made  flower-balls  and  wreaths,  and  I  played  with 
a  pariah  pup  to  their  constant  wonder  and  pleasure. 
That  poor  little  pup  had  never  been  played  with  before 
in  his  life,  and  at  first  could  not  understand  it.  But  ha 
soon  began  to  come  to  me,  and  lay  his  skinny  little  head 
in  my  hand,  and  wriggle  into  my  lap,  and  even  bis 
furtive-eyed  mother  got  friendly,  and  ceased  to  snarl  and 
snap.  And  then  when  the  flower-balls  and  '  garlands 
were  finished  the  men  would  read  aloud  from  our  books, 


The  Rest-House  Superintendent        135 

and  many  an  interesting  talk  we  had  about  Indian  affairs, 
which  led  on  to  talk  of  the  things  which  are  Jesus 
Christ's. 

One  evening  I  did  not  go  to  the  end  room,  but  instead 
had  the  Christians  who  lived  near  in  ours.  We  were 
finishing  an  informal  meeting  when  I  was  aware  of  a 
large  form  looming  through  the  open  door,  and  looking 
up  saw  a  tall  and  very  massive  gentleman  blocking  out 
the  view,  while  the  crowd  which  had  been  in  possession 
retired.  I  had  no  chair,  only  a  clean  mat,  which,  how- 
ever, I  hesitated  to  of!er,  as  I  could  not  assure  him  it 
had  not  been  used.  He  reluctantly  understood ;  the 
Indian  is  polite,  he  did  not  want  to  hurt  my  feelings  ; 
but  concluding  that  feelings  would  recover,  he  finally 
carefully  seated  himself  not  on  the  mat  but  on  the  door- 
step, the  dust  of  which  was  less  objectionable  than  that 
clean  but  contaminated  mat. 

All  this  time  the  Christians  had  been  shujffling  about 
uncomfortably.  There  was  only  the  one  door,  so  they 
could  not  get  out,  and  they  knew  their  presence  there 
was  an  offence.  I  sat  close  beside  them  so  as  to  share 
it  with  them  as  much  as  possible.  And  we  all  felt  a 
very  humble  and  despised  Httle  company. 

But  our  visitor,  Lotus'  kinsman,  was  friendly,  and 
had  come  with  friendly  purpose.  He  had  heard  I  was 
staying  at  the  rest-house,  and  as  he  was  superintendent 
of  the  charity,  he  felt  interested.  He  had  not  been  pre- 
pared to  see  the  Christians  there,  and  left  word  that  they 
must  not  be  admitted  again  ;  but  his  Oriental  gift  of 
immobility  stood  him  in  good  stead,  and  beyond  entirely 
ignoring  them  he  showed  no  sign  of  displeasure.     For  an 


136  "All  these  Things" 

hour  or  so  we  talked  amicably.  It  was  impossible  to  get 
to  anything  of  moment  till  he  was  willing  for  it.  As  we 
talked,  evidence  of  his  influence  in  many  directions 
appeared.  If  only  that  man  became  a  seeker  after 
Truth  the  effect  would  be  far-reaching.  Nothing  was 
further  from  his  thoughts.  "  I  have  read  part  of  your 
Bible,"  he  said,  "  but  I  feel  no  inward  attraction.  Our 
religion  is  older  by  millenniums.  It  is  an  all-inclusive 
religion.  Anything  of  worth  in  Christianity  will  in  due 
time  become  incorporated  with  Hinduism.  Thus  we 
shall  have  the  best  of  your  religion  without  forsaking 
our  own.  As  you  worship  Christ,  so  I  worship  Krishna. 
He  satisfies  me  completely.  My  sin,  by  which  I  mean 
the  entanglement  of  sense,  is  met  by  his  merit.  When 
I  depart  this  Ufe  he  will  transport  me  to  his  heaven." 

"  I  feel  no  inward  attraction  "  :  the  soul  had  grown  to 
its  prison.  We  thought  of  Lotus,  as  he  bowed  himself 
out,  free  to  go  where  he  would.  She  must  stay  where 
she  was  ;  she  might  beat  herself  against  the  bars  till  her 
heart  broke.  Who  would  care  ?  So  long  as  no  bar  was 
broken,  who  would  care  ? 

We  spent  the  next  morning  in  the  Brahman  street. 
In  each  verandah  down  both  sides  of  the  street  ancient 
Brahmans  sat  chanting  their  prayers  and  adorations,  or 
in  some  cases  winding  from  quaint  spinning-wheels  the 
sacred  three  strand  cord. 

A  cheerful  voice  greeted  us  as  we  passed.  It  was 
the  temple  musician,  an  old  friend  of  ours,  an  artist 
in  his  line.  When  he  plays  you  seem  to  see  jungles 
full  of  curious  creatures  making  noises  to  each  other ; 
rivulets  flowing  softly,  with  tree  tops  interlacing,  while 


The  Temple  musician. 


The  Camera  at  Fault  137 

little  birds  sing  in  the  cool ;  jackal  holes  in  the  moun- 
tains, "  Listen  !  don't  you  hear  the  beasts  yell  ?  "  And 
the  old  man  works  himself  into  a  fren^zy  till  you  almost 
imagine  you  do.  And  all  the  time  there  is  the  fine 
monotonous  undertwang  of  swift  thrumming  on  the 
strings,  till  there  breaks  through  it  a  call,  a  cry,  and  you 
are  away  in  the  forest  with  Rama,  listening  as  he  mourns 
for  his  beautiful  queen  Seetha,  watching  as  he  searches 
through  all  the  wild  ways  for  her,  feeling  the  heart  of 
things  throb,  India's  heart,  kind  and  good  as  God  made 
it  and  meant  it  to  be. 

The  old  musician  had  much  to  tell  us  of  the  depravity 
of  the  gentleman  who  had  called  to  see  us  the  previous 
evening,  with  whom  he  is  not  on  speaking  terms.  It 
was  rather  a  drop  from  the  tenderness  of  the  music,  and 
we  escaped  as  soon  as  we  could,  and  found  our  way  to  a 
deep  verandahed  house,  where  a  widow  lives  who  is  our 
friend. 

"We  made  friends  with  her  first  over  her  photograph,^ 
which,  however,  proved  disappointing.  "  Why  did  the 
box  paint  me  black  ?  "  and  she  turned  the  photo  over  in 
much  disgust,  for  she  is  not  as  brown  as  a  walnut,  and 
the  black  was  a  libel.  So  I  promised  that  when  the 
Picture-catching  Missie  Ammal  next  came  to  see  us  the 
box  would  try  to  do  better.     And  she  was  consoled. 

She  told  me  all  her  story  :  she  had  been  betrothed  at 
five  and  widowed  at  seven.  As  a  widow,  of  course,  she 
was  forbidden  to  listen  to  "  learning."  But  she  had 
managed  to  pick  up  an  immense  amount  of  information, 
and  even  some  Enghsh  words,  which  she  now  wanted  to 

^  Things  as  They  Are,  p.  145. 


138  "All  these  Things" 

have  explained.  She  knew  pages  of  Tamil  poetry  off  by 
heart,  and  chanted  as  many  stanzas  as  I  had  time  to 
listen  to.  She  seemed  in  every  way  such  an  exception- 
ally capable  woman,  and  was  so  exceptionally  free,  that 
one  felt  she  might  have  been  a  power  in  her  land, — if  only  ! 

But  here  we  came  to  the  parting  of  the  way.  We  had 
had  many  talks  and  readings,  she  sitting  at  one  end  of 
the  verandah,  I  at  the  other,  lest  by  a  breath  or  a  shadow 
fall  she  should  be  defiled  ;  and  so  I  was  surprised  to  be 
invited  into  the  house,  and  asked  to  partake  of  curry  and 
rice,  served  on  a  leaf  by  her  own  hands.  In  some  parts 
of  India  such  hospitality  is  ordinary  enough,  but  in  the 
more  conservative  corners  it  is  rare  in  Brahman  houses  ; 
and  fearing  lest  she  should  suffer  for  it  afterwards  I  hesi- 
tated. But  she  insisted,  and  I  followed  her  into  the 
front  room,  and  feasted,  or  tried  to,  while  she  talked. 

She  had,  as  she  said,  examined  the  Gospel,  "  looked 
through  it,  all  round  it,  over  and  mider  it."  And  she 
had  definitely  made  up  her  mind  that  the  degradation 
involved  in  accepting  it  was  too  great  to  be  seriously 
considered.  The  first  bitter  years  of  widowhood  had 
passed.  She  is  head  of  her  house,  and  has  yoimger 
women  in  charge.  Everyone  respects  her  for  her  strength 
of  character  and  simple  nobility,  and  she  walks  un- 
ashamed through  her  little  v/orld.  Then  there  is  her 
merit,  piles  of  it,  as  she  assured  me,  laid  up  to  her 
account  because  of  her  arduous  years  of  penance  and 
fasting,  and  long  pilgrimages.  Every  morning  she  paints 
the  Vishnu  mark  on  her  brow,  then  bathes,  and  performs 
many  ceremonies.  Once  every  week  she  fasts,  besides 
frequent  extra  fasts.     She  has  relaxed  the  fasting  of  late 


"Not  Necessary"  139 

as  she  felt  she  had  merit  in  stock,  and  could  take  things 
easier.  Lastly  and  chiefly,  there  is  her  caste,  and  no 
words  can  describe  what  a  Brahman's  caste  is  to  her. 
Put  these  three  things  together,— the  respect  of  all  her 
people,  her  accumulated  merit,  her  pinnacle  of  caste. 
Put  on  the  other  side  what  she  would  be  the  moment  she 
turned  from  these  to  Christ,— a  hissing  and  a  byword,  a 
scorn,  a  shame,  an  outcast  for  ever.     It  was  too  much. 

And  yet  it  was  nothing  ;  nothing  in  comparison  to 
what  the  Indian  wife  and  mother  is  compelled  to  face. 
All  these  social  losses  are  hard  to  bear,  but  what  must 
it  be  to  the  mother  to  face  the  loss  of  her  child  ?  We 
count  these  elderly  childless  widows  as,  comparatively 
speaking,  disentangled  people  ;  free,  as  women's  freedom 
goes,  with  a  most  blessed  freedom. 

"  I  stand  alone,"  said  the  Brahman  widow,  "  but 
I  stand  strong,  kept  by  the  force  of  my  own  will. 
Being  who  I  am,  your  Jesus  Saviour  is  not  necessary 
to  me." 

But  we  who  had  come  to  love  her  could  not  accept 
this  as  her  final  word.  She  had  asked  me  to  visit  her 
again.  We  had  parted,  as  she  would  express  it,  in  a 
unity  as  of  one  body  and  soul :  so  I  went  again.  A 
child  answered  my  call:  "She  is  out.  The  Ammal 
is  out  bathing,"  she  said.  The  door  was  wide  open. 
I  could  see  the  widow  sitting  with  a  mirror  in  her  hand, 
carefully  painting  the  Vishnu  trident  on  her  forehead. 

It  seemed  better  not  to  go  for  a  while  ;  so  I  waited 
the  advent  of  the  friends  (one  of  whom  had  caught  her 
picture),  whom  to  see,  she  had  assured  me,  would  be 
heart-melting  joy.    We  three  went  together. 


140  ''All  these  Things" 

There  was  no  sign  of  her  about  the  house,  nor  did 
any  answer  our  call.  We  sat  on  the  verandah  and 
waited.  Then,  as  still  there  was  no  movement  in  the 
house,  I  pushed  the  door  a  little  open  and  looked  in. 
There  was  a  heap  of  what  looked  like  rags  in  the  corner 
of  the  room. 

"  Amma  !  Are  you  ill  ?  The  Picture-catching  Missie 
Animal  has  come  to  see  you."  No  answer.  Another 
call,  and  the  heap  turned  wearily  over,  and  a  voice  so 
broken-spirited  that  I  hardly  recognised  it,  said,  "Go 
away.  I  am  ill.  My  caste  is  angry  with  me  because 
I  invited  you  in  before.  I  disgraced  my  orthodox 
relations.     They  leave  me  alone  here  now." 

There  she  lay,  just  ill  enough  to  need  tending.  Not 
too  ill  to  get  up  and  walk  out  with  us  or  anywhere  she 
liked  ;  free.  But  she  did  not  feel  free.  She  felt  bound 
to  lie  there  in  misery,  loneliness,  and  no  love  of  ours 
could  help  her.  "  I  have  no  need  of  anything,"  the 
tired  voice  said,  as  we  waited  by  the  door,  "  I  still 
am  a  Brahman.  I  am  pure.  Your  Jesus  Saviour  is 
not  necessary  to  me."  And  she  turned  her  face  to  the 
wall. 

In  the  next  street  we  have  a  Mohammedan  friend. 
She  had  asked  us  wistfully  one  day  to  show  her  the 
way  to  heaven.  Week  by  week  one  or  other  of  us 
went  and  taught  her  and  her  younger  sister.  Both 
became  interested,  and  began  to  talk  about  being 
Christians.  Before  the  girl  was  old  enough  to  think 
of  coming  out,  she  was  married  to  a  middle-aged  man 
for  whom  she  had  a  special  aversion.  She  resented 
being  compelled  to  marry  him,  and  resisted  up  to  the 


One  uf  liL'i-  urtliudux  relations. 


"You  CANNOT  TAKE  THE  CHILDREN  "    141 

very  last  with  a  childish  desperateness  that  entertained 
her  captors,  who  invited  us  one  day  to  witness  an 
imitation  of  the  struggle.  "  He  threw  her  over  his 
shoulder,  so,  and  her  feet  dangled  and  her  anklets 
jingled.  Oh,  it  was  most  amusing !  "  We  looked 
anything  but  amused,  and  would  not  listen  or  look  ; 
and  the  narrator,  with  bangled  arms  thrown  over  her 
own  shoulders  in  imitation  of  the  poor  child's  feet,  ran 
round  the  courtyard  for  her  own  diversion,  laughing 
heartily  as  she  cried,  "  This  was  how  he  did  it,  and  this 
was  what  she  did.  Oh,  how  her  anklets  jingled !  " 
The  husband,  his  supremacy  once  established,  had  not 
been  unkind,  and  his  young  wife  had  settled  down  to 
the  inevitable  fairly  satisfied. 

The  elder  sister  went  on  learning.  She  was  already 
married,  and  had  three  little  children.  She  began  to 
teach  them  what  we  taught  her.  Her  husband  forbade 
her  to  mention  Christ  to  them.  "  You  can  do  as  you 
like,"  he  told  her  casually,  "  I  can  easily  get  another 
cook.  But  remember  you  cannot  take  the  children." 
She  had  hardly  come  to  the  point  of  facing  leaving 
home.  He  brought  her  straight  up  to  it.  "  You  can't 
be  a  Christian  in  my  house,"  he  said,  adding  as  before, 
"  but  remember,  you  cannot  take  the  children."  "  Do 
you  mean  I  cannot  have  my  baby  if  I  am  a  Christian  ?  " 
He  meant  just  that. 

I  remember  her  the  day  after  he  said  it.  She  was 
sitting  on  her  verandah,  her  month- old  baby  on  her 
knee,  the  mark  of  such  a  bitter  struggle  in  her  face. 
"  Try  to  win  your  husband,"  we  urged.  But  our  visits 
were  forbidden.     Bereft  of  the  little  help  we  could  give 


142  "All  these  Things" 

her,  she  lost  heart  and  got  cold.  The  imentangled 
widow  with  no  desire  at  all ;  the  much-entangled  wife 
with  at  first  so  much  desire  :  another  of  life's  anomalies. 
Do  these  stories  weary  you,  I  wonder  ?  Or  do  you 
feel  as  we  do,  that  it  is  better,  after  all,  to  share  the 
day's  life  fairly  with  us,  if  you  take  the  trouble  to  share 
it  at  all  ?  On,  then,  to  the  next  town  ;  here  we  are  less 
remote  from  the  levelling  influence  of  education,  and  so, 
sometimes  we  are  welcome  even  in  Brahman  houses. 
We  spent  an  hour  a  few  weeks  ago  with  some  friendly 
Brahmans,  who  afterwards  allowed  us  to  visit  their 
wives.  It  was  early  in  the  afternoon.  Five  old 
Brahmans  were  sitting  on  the  verandah,  content  just 
to  exist.  There  was  the  usual  glance  of  appraisal  : 
then  "  It  is  hot,"  they  murmured  sleepily.  "  Why  agitate 
yourself  by  wandering  about  ?  "  We  found  they  knew 
enough  to  negative  any  attempt  to  speak  of  Christ. 
They  preferred,  they  said,  to  speak  of  one  of  their  poets, 
beloved  by  all  who  read  ;  and  knowing  that  where  the 
better  Tamil  poetry  at  least  is  concerned,  "  all  thoughts, 
all  searches,  to  this  centre  tend,  all  rays  in  this  one 
focus  meet,"  we  guided  their  choice  to  three  stanzas, 
thus  translated  by  Dr.  Pope  :  "  My  mother  bare  me, 
left  me  here,  and  went  to  seek  her  mother,  who  in  self- 
same manner  has  gone  in  search  ;  and  thus  in  ceaseless 
round  goes  on  the  mother  quest.  Such  is  the  grace  this 
world  affords." 

"  Unasked  men  come,  appear  in  the  house  as  kinsmen, 
and  then  silently  go.  As  the  bird  silently  deserts  the 
tree  where  its  nest  yet  remains,  and  goes  far  off.  So 
these  leave  but  their  body  to  their  friends." 


On  the  verandah. 


The  book  in  the  old  man's  hand  is  made  of  pahn-leaf, 
upon  which  the  poem  is  engraved. 


Playing  Ball  with  Truth     143 

"  Severed  are  the  ties  of  friendship  ;  minished  are  the 
pleasant  ones ;  love's  bonds  are  loosened  too  ;  then  look 
within  and  say,  'What  profit  is  there  in  this  joyous 
life  of  thine  ?  The  cry  comes  up  as  from  a  sinking 
ship.'  " 

Before  long  the  men  were  interested,  and  were  pre- 
pared to  discuss,  in  the  cool  and  detached  manner  of 
the  philosopher,  what  exactly  the  poet  meant  by  the 
mother  quest,  deserted  nest,  sinking  ship.  "  We  had  the 
sentence  of  death  in  ourselves,  that  we  should  not  trust 
in  ourselves,  but  in  God  which  raiseth  the  dead.  Who 
delivered  us  from  so  great  a  death,  and  doth  dehver  us  : 
in  whom  we  trust  that  He  will  yet  deliver  us."  The  poet 
unconsciously  pointed  straight  to  this.  "  There  is  no 
record  but  doth  hint  of  Thee."  If  only  these  men 
would  give  one  hour  out  of  their  ample  leisure  to  earnest 
consideration,  if  only  they  would  allow  themselves  to 
be  in  earnest,  surely  they  would  be  awakened  by  the 
view  of  their  true  position.  What  baffles  one  so  is  the 
lack  of  earnestness.  There  is  something  awful  in  the 
sight  of  immortal  men  playing  ball  with  Truth.  When 
we  returned  from  their  women  folk  they  were  still 
playing  ball,  blind  to  the  words  written  over  the  balls. 
Life,  Death,  Judgment  to  come. 

A  stone's  throw  from  that  verandah  scene  we  saw  its 
opposite.  A  girl  was  wresthng  in  earnest  with  the  power 
that  purposed  to  hold  her  in  bondage.  Her  true  position 
was  only  too  clear  to  her  startled  heart  that  day.  She 
was  almost  sixteen.  She  had  been  waiting  for  the  month 
to  come  which  would,  she  believed,  set  her  free  to  ask 
for  baptism.       It^had  almost  come,  but  just  before  the 


144  "All  these  Things" 

earliest  day  she  dare  count  herself  free,  the  marriage, 
postponed  till  then,  to  her  ]oj,  had  been  suddenly- 
planned  by  her  parents,  and  there  was  no  escape.  She 
felt  like  a  runner  racing  for  Hfe  with  a  swifter,  panting 
hard  behind.  The  runner  gained  upon  her,  overtook  her, 
caught  her.  No  one  listened  to  her  protest.  They 
pushed  her  through  the  wedding,  and  hurried  her  off  to 
her  husband's  house. 

We  teach  these  girls  about  the  inward  liberty  of  the 
spirit,  which  no  untoward  circumstance  can  in  the  least 
affect.  And  as  to  physical  liberty,  we  would  not  feel 
justified  in  refusing  refuge  to  any  wife  of  whose  bona  fides 
we  were  perfectly  assured.  But  the  complications  created 
by  marriage  are  obvious  enough,  and  always  there  is  the 
danger  that  the  spiritual  life,  which  after  all  was  young 
and  needed  nourishing,  should  succumb  when  left  unfed. 

Our  visitor  in  the  rest-house  and  his  young  kins- 
woman Lotus,  the  Brahman  widow  and  the  Mohammedan 
wife,  the  old  men  and  the  young  girl — the  three  sets  of 
contrasts  could  be  duphcated  by  most  who  have  worked 
among  the  more  conservative  castes.  This  chapter,  with 
the  two  which  precede  it,  touches  only  the  usual. 

The  Sword  and  Variance  ;  the  laws  of  the  land  con- 
cerning women  ;  custom  more  potential  than  any  law,— 
all  these  things  are  against  us.  ''  None  of  these  things 
move  us.^^  The  words  rise  like  the  chorus  to  a  new 
strong  song.  These  things  were  foreknown  to  the  One 
who  sent  us  to  face  them.  A  thing  foreknown  cannot 
militate  against  ultimate  victory.  "  We  rejoice  in  hope 
of  the  glory  of  God." 

Tt  is  true  that  the  work  is  hard.     Wherever  the  object 


"The  Joy  of  the  Difficult  Life"   145 

aimed  at  is  to  win  to  out-and-out  allegiance  to  Christ,  not 
tlie  most  easily  won,  but  the  most  estranged,  the  most 
opposed,  not  in  the  far  future  of  succeeding  generations, 
but  here  and  now — there,  if  letters  from  almost  all  over 
the  world  are  proof,  we  find  conflict,  with  exactly  what 
the  word  connotes. 

Granted  it  is  hard,  feel  to  the  core  of  your  soul  how 
very  hard  it  is  ;  is  there  not  something  within  us  which 
leaps  to  meet  the  hardest  ?  "  The  Joy  of  the  Difficult 
Life  "  is  the  inspiring  title  of  a  recent  article  in  an  Lidian 
magazine.     We  talk  of  our  Anglo-Saxon  blood — 

"  That  is  best  blood  that  hath  most  h'on  in't, 
To  edge  resolve  with." 

Should  not  the  very  difficulties,  the  sense  of  the 
impregnable,  impossible,  send  us  to  our  knees,  and  then 
out  to  the  battle  front  ? 


10 


CHAPTEE   XIX 
Gardens  by  the  River's  Side 

IT  may  be  a  relief  to  liirn  from  these  crooked  and 
complicated  things,  even  though  tliey  do  not  "  move 
us."  A  river  flows  close  to  the  town  where  we 
stayed  at  the  beggars'  rest-house,  and  gardens  no  man 
planted  border  its  banks.  Near  by  are  some  Christian 
houses.  Life  there,  on  the  surface,  at  least,  is  straight- 
forward and  homely  ;  commonplace,  the  hunter  for  excite- 
ment would  probably  call  it ;  but  domestic  simplicity  has 
a  charm  of  its  own.  One  of  these  Christian  homes  is  a 
true  little  garden. 

One  day  while  we  stayed  at  the  rest-house,  our 
Brahman  widow  friend  woke  hope  in  us  by  sending  for 
me  to  come  to  see  her.  I  went,  but  was  told  she  was 
out.  The  message  was  a  hoax.  The  Brahmans  living 
in  the  street  looked  coldly,  I  thought,  as  I  walked  down 
their  street,  alone,  for  I  had  not  been  allowed  to  bring 
an  Indian  sister  in.  I  went  to  the  Christian  quarter 
then,  with  a  sense  of  rest  and  gladness  that  there  was 
such  a  place  to  go  to.  Whatever  the  Christians  are, 
they  are  not  unkind  and  cold. 

The  half-dozen  Christian  houses  are  grouped  round  a 
small  mud-built   prayer-room,   which   was   under  repair, 


^^^'S']^! 


!?#■ 


f  tj 


^0i^- 


m 


The  wonderful  Asiatic  147 

so  the  school  usually  conducted  in  the  prayer-room  was 
in  full  swing  in  the  catechist's  house.  Out  tumbled  the 
children  to  shout  salaam  in  chorus.  After  them  came 
the  school-mistress,  the  catechist,  his  wife  and  family, 
a  sickly  looking  widow,  and  her  family,  and  several 
sundries.  These  all  poured  in,  after  me,  till  we  seemed 
wedged  together  in  the  very  small  space  available,  beyond 
all  chance  of  doing  anything.  But  the  Oriental  can  work 
under  adverse  conditions.  The  twenty  children  were  soon 
drawn  up  in  class,  repeating  their  lessons  at  the  top 
of  their  voices.  The  young  school-mistress  managed  to 
move  among  them,  and  tried  to  keep  order,  though 
there  was  hardly  room  enough  to  brandish  her  inoffensive 
cane.  The  widow  and  her  family  climbed  the  nearest 
verandah.  The  sundries,  several  stray  women  and  young 
children,  and  two  goats,  talked  to  each  other.  The 
catechist  calmly  resumed  the  labour  my  advent  had 
interrupted,  letter-writing,  requiring  much  consideration, 
to  judge  by  his  abstraction  for  the  next  half -hour.  How 
he  could  concentrate  on  anything  in  the  midst  of  such  a 
racket  was  surprising,  in  spite  of  our  famiharity  with  the 
wonderful  Asiatic.  One  of  our  pastors,  alone,  in  his  native 
village,  before  his  ordination,  took  his  B.A.  degree  in 
mathematics,  studying  at  one  end  of  his  verandah, 
screened  off  by  nothing  more  substantial  than  a  cocoanut- 
leaf  mat,  from  the  life  of  the  house — and  his  seven 
young  children. 

The  catechist's  wife  first  got  me  milk,  then  sugar,  plan- 
tains, and  cocoanut  water.  She  wanted  to  make  coffee, 
and  was  hardly  dissuaded  from  producing  the  family  cot,  a 
cane  lounge  much  in  use.     "  You  are  tired  with  walking 


148  Gardens  by  the  Eiver's  Side 

up  and  down  in  the  sun  in  that  Brahman  street. 
Ah  !  When  will  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  shine  in  that 
street !  "  More  reflections  ;  then,  "  If  only  I  had  known 
you  were  coming  there  would  have  been  coffee  all  ready  !  " 
And  the  dear  motherly  face  looked  concerned.  Catechists' 
wives  are  not  rich  ;  but  the  best  that  house  afforded,  the 
coffee  reserved  for  rare  feasting  days,  was  pressed  upon 
me.  This  over,  the  catechist's  wife  sat  down  happily 
in  the  midst  of  the  school  children,  and,  watching  her 
opportunity,  captured  one  of  them,  the  disconsolate 
widow's  small  son,  who  had  slid  into  his  place  in  the 
infants'  class.  The  infant  was  glistening  all  over.  He 
had  been  lavishly  oiled.  The  catechist's  wife  secured 
him  by  holding  firmly  to  the  tuft  of  hair  grown  as  a  top 
knot.  "  Should  I  not  finish  what  I  have  begun,  0  my 
little  parrot  ?  Wriggle  not,  0  slippery  one !  "  And 
she  proceeded  with  farther  lubrications,  explaining 
minutely  the  nature  of  his  not  very  serious  malady. 
"  And  so,  afilicted  as  he  is,  what  could  I  do  but  this  ? 
Such  a  little  clever  one  !  Verses  he  knows  by  the 
score,  and  hymns  : — Sing  '  Jesus  knows  all  about  our 
troubles  !  '  "     It  was  sung  with  cheerfulness. 

Now  this,  the  care  of  another's  child,  though  so 
ordinary  to  tell,  was  not  quite  ordinary  to  happen. 
Any  number  of  relations  will  come  and  camp  in  each 
others'  houses.  But  Love,  the  sick  widow,  was  not  a 
relation.  She  belonged  to  a  different  caste,  and  a  caste 
which  is  to  the  catechist's  caste  as  a  mongoose  to  a  cobra, 
to  quote  an  expressive  idiom  for  blood  feud.  The  story 
came  out  as  1  sat  there,  not  that  it  was  consciously  tuld, 
it  rather  told  itself. 


"Pure  Religion  ...  is  This''         149 

Love  had  heard  the  gospel  hi  an  open-air  meeting 
held  by  the  Men's  Itinerating  Band  some  years  ago. 
She  called  her  husband  to  listen.  He  was  converted. 
Immediately  afterwards  he  died. 

The  heathen  relations  came  to  the  usual  conclusion, 
and  expressed  themselves  in  the  usual  way.  Pubhc 
opinion  is  wonderfully  compelling.  Most  of  us  think  as 
others  think,  not  because  we  think  at  all,  but  simply  by 
force  of  its  influence.  Love  almost  believed  herself 
guilty.  But  she  did  not  give  way.  Her  sturdy  in- 
dependence of  character  was  mistaken  for  heart  con- 
version.    She  was  baptized. 

Then  she  became  ill.  It  was  a  mysterious  illness, 
and  was,  of  course,  referred  direct  to  the  action  of  the 
offended  Powers.  Love  got  more  and  more  despondent ; 
and  though  she  never  seems  to  have  contemplated  giving 
up  Christianity,  she  was  not  in  touch  with  Christ,  and 
she  sank  into  a  grumbling  condition  not  conducive  to 
health.  It  was  about  this  time  that  she  came  to  live 
near  the  Christians.  The  catechist's  wife  tried  to  teach 
her  to  read,  but  teaching  is  not  the  good  woman's  forte. 
She  tried  to  lead  her  to  the  Lord,  but  Love  resented 
being  considered  anything  other  than  thoroughly  right. 
She  tried  to  comfort  her  in  her  troubles,  but  Love  was 
so  sorry  for  herself  that  the  kindly  effort  failed. 

Many  a  Christian  will  preach  and  pray  with  truly 
delightful  fervency,  and  a  fluency  most  amazing.  But 
when  it  comes  to  drawing  water  for  a  weakly  woman, 
still  more,  actually  cooking  for  her,  it  is  a  different 
matter.  The  catechist's  wife  was  ready  to  do  both 
these   things  for  Love  ;   but  though  Love  is  willing  to 


150  Gardens  by  the  River's  Side 

break  her  caste,  and  eat  food  cooked  by  all  and  sundry 
when  she  comes  to  stay  with  us,  she  had  no  wish  to 
incur  reproach  when  anywhere  near  her  own  people. 
The  catechist's  wife  understood  the  situation.  She 
would  not  like  one  of  an  unsuitable  caste  to  cook  for 
her.  But  she  was  very  sorry  for  Love,  who  was  not  fit 
to  look  after  herself  and  her  children,  so  she  did  what 
she  could.  She  keeps  cows.  Milk  is  not  a  prohibited 
food.  She  fed  both  mother  and  children  on  milk,  and 
saw  to  the  little  ones'  clothing  and  schooling,  and  all 
without  fuss  of  any  kind,  but  simply  out  of  motherliness. 

To  appreciate  the  garden,  look  at  the  desert.  Near 
us  is  a  large,  prosperous  village.  Its  servants  live  in  a 
hamlet  near.  An  old  coolie  belonging  to  one  of  the 
leading  families  was  ill.  It  was  a  simple  trouble.  A 
bone  had  stuck  in  his  throat.  He  could  not  eat.  His 
master  in  the  village  knew. 

His  people  were  ignorant.  They  did  their  best. 
But  their  doctor,  the  barber,  failed  in  his  efforts  to  dis- 
lodge the  bone.  The  old  man  slowly  starved  to  death. 
When  the  bearers  went  for  him,  he  was  Hght  to  carry. 

Did  his  master  grudge  the  two  rupees  it  would  have 
cost  to  hire  a  cart  and  take  him  to  the  nearest  town  ? 
"  It  was  not  that,"  and  the  girl,  who  had  known  the  old 
man,  her  father's  servant,  smiled,  surprised ;  "  my  father 
never  thought  of  it  as  his  affair.  Only  our  own  caste 
people  are  our  affair." 

"  Instead  of  the  thorn  shall  come  up  the  fir-tree,  and 
instead  of  the  brier  shall  come  up  the  myrtle-tree  ;  and 
it  shall  be  to  the  Lord  for  a  name." 

One   such  notable  reversal  is  surely  proof  that  God 


"Weakness  Thy  Workshop"  151 

does  completely  reverse  the  things  that  were,  and  that 
He  does  it  without  necessarily  any  very  long  delay 
once  He  has  taken  the  case  in  hand.  Some  tell  us 
we  must  not  expect  to  see  such  immediate  reversal. 
But  how  far  off  must  we  postpone  expectation  ?  We 
know  our  Lord  bears  gently  with  the  ignorant  and 
erring,  and  it  is  not  for  us  to  judge  how  far  the  ignor- 
ance and  error  must  reach  before  it  passes  the  confines 
of  His  great  lovingkindness.  He  knows  the  inner 
story,  the  limitations.  He  loves  the  weakest  and 
dullest, — we  feel  in  our  hearts  if  this  were  not  so  He 
would  not  long  love  us,  the  weakest  and  dullest  of  all ;  but 
then  we  beheve,  and  rejoice  to  believe,  that  not  through 
slow  processes  only,  but  quickly,  as  by  a  word.  He  can 
so  deal  with  character  that  the  life  changes  to  something 
manifestly  different  from  what  it  was  before,  strongest 
where  it  was  weakest,  showing  forth  God's  "  Instead." 

Such  a  life  was  Hved  in  the  sight  of  all  the  people  by 
a  grand  old  pastor,  who  was  called  by  the  Hindus  The 
One-Word  Man,  because  of  his  flawless  truthfulness. 
Truthfulness  is  not  the  predominant  characteristic  of 
most  Easterns.  The  old  pastor  belonged  originally  to 
a  section  of  the  community  whose  profession  compels 
the  cultivation  of  lying  as  an  art ;  but  the  fir-tree  and 
the  myrtle  grew  so  strong  in  him  that  it  was  hard  to 
believe  the  thorn  and  the  brier  could  ever  have  been 
there,  and  his  bare  word  was  accepted  by  Christians  and 
Hindus  alike  as  final.  We  know  many  so  transformed. 
"  Immediately  she  was  made  straight,  and  glorified  God," 
is  not  an  obsolete  text. 

Numerous  incidents  are  told  of  the  way  the  Hindus 


152  Gardens  by  the  Eivek's  Side 

believed  the  pastor's  word,  and  were  guided  by  it. 
Once,  when  a  prayer-room  was  being  built  by  a  con- 
gregation in  his  charge,  within  the  domains  of  a  certain 
opposing  Hindu,  the  Hindus  sent  men  to  destroy  it  by 
force.  A  scrimmage  ensued.  The  Christians  were 
roughly  handled,  and  a  police  case  was  the  result.  The 
Christians  wanted  their  pastor  to  exaggerate  the  violence 
done  to  them.  The  magistrates  heard  the  witnesses, 
who  all  contradicted  each  other,  and  then  called  upon 
the  pastor  to  give  evidence.  He  did  so  with  absolute 
veracity.  The  magistrate  saw  he  spoke  the  truth,  with- 
out hiding  the  fault  of  his  own  party.  He  asked  the 
lawyer  on  the  Hindu  side  if  he  had  any  question  to 
address  to  the  pastor.  The  lawyer,  who  was  unprepared 
for  a  perfectly  truthful  witness,  replied  that  he  had 
nothing  to  say.  The  case  was  decided  then  in  favour  of 
the  Christians  by  that  Hindu  magistrate,  upon  the  sole 
evidence  of  the  man  who  was  known  to  tell  the  truth. 

I  remember  once  seeing  his  word  doubted.  His  wife 
had  cataract.  A  quack  was  allowed  to  operate.  His 
method  was  sure  and  simple.  He  had  only  to  run  a 
needle  into  the  pupil  of  the  eye,  and  immediately  the 
offending  particle  within  would  wither  up  and  disappear. 
Could  anything  be  simpler  ?  But  though  so  simple, 
its  successful  performance  required  the  greatest  skill. 
Therefore  the  fee,  to  be  paid  in  advance,  was  ten  rupees. 

The  old  pastor  had  not  so  much  money  at  hand.  His 
wife  was  eager  for  the  operation.  She  would  see  an 
hour  or  tv70  afterwards.  Now  that  the  blissful  moment 
was  so  near,  how  could  she  wait  ?  "  Prick  now  ;  next 
week  the  money  will  come,"  said  the  old  man,  knowing 


''If  ye  love  Me  ..."  153 

that  it  would.  The  operator  demurred.  He  had  good 
reason  for  doubting  after-payment  in  such  cases.  "  We 
are  Christians,"  said  the  pastor.  "  Cured  or  marred,  the 
money  shall  be  yours."  But  still  the  doctor  doubted, 
and  they  had  to  scrape  the  ten  rupees  together  by 
borrowing  from  neighbours.  We  were  returning  from 
camp  that  afternoon,  and  the  quack,  fresh  from  operat- 
ing, met  us  just  outside  the  village.  He  brandished 
what  looked  like  a  rusty  darning  needle.  "  Look  !  this 
has  given  your  pastor's  wife  new  eyes  !  "  Horrified,  we 
hastened  on,  and  found  the  two  old  people  in  trouble. 
The  old  woman,  because  of  the  pain  in  her  eyes,  the  old 
man  because  of  the  pain  in  his  heart, — "  The  doctor  did 
not  believe  our  word," 

This  dear  old  man,  by  his  holy  consistent  Hfe,  had 
commended  the  Gospel  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  for  over 
seventy  years,  when,  having  walked  so  far  with  God,  he 
was  not,  for  God  took  him. 

Many  are  asking,  Are  Missions  worth  while  ?  Surely 
they  are,  if  such  souls  are  worth  winning.  But  after  all, 
does  it  greatly  matter  what  we,  the  servants,  think  upon 
the  subject  ?  Is  not  our  business  rather  to  discover  our 
Master's  thought,  and  then  obey  Him  "  unto  all  studious 
meeting  of  His  washes  "  ? 


CHAPTEK   XX 
A  Singing  Bird  in  God's  Garden 

ANEW  garden  is  in  making  on  tlie  hot  plain  under 
tlie  mountains.  We  spent  a  day  there  lately, 
watching  the  work.  But  first  we  stayed  for  an 
hour  or  two  in  a  place  which  is  not  a  garden. 

The  Potters'  quarter  in  Skywisdom's  village  is  an 
untidy  huddle  of  huts  near  a  small  old  shrine.  We 
took  our  stand  near  the  shrine,  beside  the  raised  plat- 
form upon  which,  behind  a  grated  door,  the  goddess  sits 
in  a  dark  cell.  At  one  end  of  the  platform  there  is  an 
idol  painted  black.  In  front,  leaning  against  the  wall, 
was  what  I  mistook  for  a  clay  model  of  the  Virgin  and 
Child.  But  it  was  a  local  Madonna  ;  for  Satan's  travesty 
of  the  truth  may  be  traced  through  the  Hindu  system 
straight  back  to  the  Babylonish  Mysteries  ;  and  the  holy 
Story  of  Bethlehem  is  parodied  everywhere. 

It  was  sunny  outside,  and  the  Potters  let  us  mount 
the  platform,  which  was  shaded.  They  gathered  in 
groups  about  the  steps,  and  listened  silently  while  we 
besought  them  to  turn  from  these  vanities  unto  the 
living  God. 

We  were  standing  close  to  the  clay  goddess  as  we 
spoke,  and  inadvertently  touched  it,  but  no  one  minded. 

154 


"Not  so  .  .  .  But"  155 

"  It  does  not  matter.  It  has  not  received  the  Inspira- 
tion. It  is  still  mere  clay."  And  they  showed  us  the 
hole  left  in  the  back  of  such  images  by  which  the  s}3irit 
it  is  meant  to  represent  is  intended  to  enter  into  it, 
when  the  ceremony  of  Inspiration  is  performed.  "  The 
hole  will  be  closed  up  afterwards.  Then  we  should  not 
like  you  to  touch  it,  for  then  it  becomes  a  goddess  like 
the  one  inside.  We  would  not  like  you  to  touch  our 
god,"  pointing  to  the  stone  figure,  "  because  in  the  days 
of  the  ancients  he  was  made  and  inspired.  He  is  now 
inhabited."  We  assured  them  we  would  not  touch  it, 
and  they  were  content. 

Then  two  old  champions  ■••  of  the  faith  rose  to  defend 
a  dogma  which  we  had  not  attacked,  for  here,  as  in  the 
question  of  demoniacal  possession,  we  are  on  unknown 
ground,  and  are  too  ignorant  to  contradict  those  who 
have  lived  on  it  all  their  lives.  "  What  would  I  say 
then  ?  That  an  idol  has  any  real  being  ?  .  .  .  Not  so  ; 
but  I  say  that  when  the  heathen  offer  sacrifices  they 
sacrifice  to  demons  and  not  to  God  "  :  so  runs  Conybeare 
and  Howson's  translation  of  St.  Paul's  words  to  the 
Corinthians.  "  Not  so  .  .  .  But."  This  inky  black 
shape,  with  its  gilt  eyeballs  protruding,  its  uplifted  hand 
and  club,  and  general  impression  of  ferocity,  has  no  real 
being,  but  it  stands  for  that  which  has  ;  and  the  sacri- 
fices offered  to  it  are  offered  to  a  real  being,  the  demon 
who  deceives  these  men  and  women  who  are  talking 
round  us  now.     This  much  at  least  we  know. 

"  Oh,  in  the  night  he  came.  And  he  seized  this 
brother,"  pointing  to  one   with    bloodshot    eyes    and  a 

1  For  photographs  of  these  two.  see  Things  as  They  Are,  p.  24. 


156        A  Singing  Bird  in  God's  Garden 

raving  expression,  "  and  we  cried  '  Prophesy.'  And  he 
prophesied  :  he  said,  '  Shall  not  your  mother's  cousin's 
wife  have  a  child  within  a  year  ?  '  And  she,  who  for 
seventeen  years  had  had  no  child,  possessed  a  son  in 
eleven  months.  Then  we  gave  cocoanuts,  eggs,  cakes,  a 
goat,  and  fowls.  All  he  desired  we  gave."  Each  of  the 
men  and  women  there  was  ready  to  confirm  the  truth 
of  this  story,  and  each  was  ready  to  add  another,  which 
like  a  blazing  torch  lit  up  the  dark  recess  of  many  a 
Ufe. 

If  Michael  the  archangel,  when  contending  with  the 
devil  about  the  body  of  Moses  durst  not  bring  against 
him  a  railing  accusation,  but  only  said,  "  The  Lord 
rebuke  thee,"  much  less  dare  we  give  free  vent  to  our 
feelings,  much  more  may  we  give  pause  when  we 
meet  the  same  defiance.  There  is  calm  in  the  confidence 
that  the  day  of  the  Lord's  rebuke  will  for  ever  end  this 
working  of  Satan.  But  in  the  meantime  these  souls  are 
receiving  not  the  love  of  the  truth,  but  the  workings  of 
falsehood  and  deceit  of  unrighteousness,  and  we  pleaded 
with  them  collectively  and  then  individually  to  face  the 
ignored  facts  of  life  and  the  hereafter  ;  and  we  preached 
Jesus. 

"  Most  excellent  doctrine,  excellent  doctrine,"  said  one 
of  the  old  men  ;  "  I  intend  to  think  longer  upon  it." 
So  he  followed  us  all  day.  And  in  the  evening,  after 
much  meditation,  he  made  the  following  proposal :  "  For 
one  hundred  rupees,  and  free  food  for  life,  and  the 
promise  of  care  in  my  old  age,  and  a  worthy  funeral, 
I  will  now  embrace  your  religion."  Such  is  the  soil 
God  takes  and  makes  into  gardens. 


''He  is  God's  Man"  157 

vStraight  from  the  Potters'  quarter  we  went  to  the 
Palm  CUmbers  ;  and,  surrounded  by  another  crowd  of 
far  more  intelligent  people,  heard  a  heart-rejoicing 
story. 

It  was  told  by  a  young  wife  whose  beaming  face  bore 
witness  to  its  truth.  How  astonished  she  would  have 
been  to  hear  that  anywhere  there  were  those  who  con- 
sider "  religion "  depressing.  She  evidently  found  it  a 
most  happy  possession. 

She  had  heard  of  Christianity  before  her  marriage, 
but  cared  nothing  for  it.  After  her  marriage  she  came 
to  live  in  Skywisdom's  village,  where  a  young  school- 
master, lately  converted,  had  been  stationed.  Her  husband 
knew  about  his  life.  The  Indian  is  quick  to  detect  a 
sham,  and  equally  quick  to  recognise  hoUness.  "  He  is 
God's  man,"  was  the  husband's  verdict.  The  wife  was 
interested  and  watched.  But  still  she  cared  nothing. 
Her  voice  was  eager  as  she  continued  : 

"  Then  late  one  evening  I  heard  there  was  preaching 
in  the  street,  and  all  of  us  went  and  sat  on  the  ground. 
There  was  a  singing  box,  and  a  lantern  set  on  the  devil's 
altar.  And  you  all  gathered  round  the  altar  and  played 
the  box  and  sang  much.  Do  you  remember  ?  "  And 
though  we  have  had  many  an  open-air  meeting  since 
then,  we  well  remember  that  meeting,  when  the  light 
shone  out  in  the  black  night. 

"  Oftenest  of  all  the  songs  you  sang  was  one  like  this  : 

"  '  Come  to  Jesus. 
Come  !     Come  ! 
To  the  true  Lord. 
Come  !     Come  ! '  " 


158       A  Singing  Bird  in  God's  Garden 

She  sang  through  the  chorus  with  evident  dehght, 
and  from  thi.s  point  on,  her  story  was  punctuated  with 
choruses,  lyrics,  and  hymns,  sung  to  unrecognisable  tunes, 
and  with  many  variations  as  to  words  ;  for  we  found 
our  choruses  had  grown,  budded  out  into  fresh  verses 
to  express  new  emotions.  It  was  an  interesting  study 
in  poetical  evolution  ;  and,  by  the  way,  in  the  evolution 
of  a  bit  of  ground  from  desert  to  garden. 

In  almost  all  our  meetings  we  speak  of  sin  and  its 
inevitable  outworking.  This  appeals  to  the  people.  The 
conscience  in  them  confirms  the  truth  of  the  words  which 
are  God's.  The  inner  voice  corresponds  to  the  outer. 
The  latent  sense  of  right  and  wrong  becomes  active. 
You  can  see  the  truth  grip.  Then  we  speak  of  the 
way  of  deliverance  from  sin,  and  we  find  that  the  story 
of  the  love  that  passeth  all  knowledge,  all  telling,  draws 
w^ith  a  power  that  is  only  Divine.  The  Indian  deep 
down  is  loving.  He  was  created  most  lovable.  If  only 
he  will  let  himself  listen,  something  within  him  responds 
to  that  love,  goes  out  to  meet  it  insensibly.  Alas  for 
the  many  hindrances,  the  devil's  devices  coming  between 
the  soul  and  the  clasp  of  that  infinite  love  !  But  some- 
times the  love  breaks  through  them  all,  bends  over,  lifts 
over  the  soul  that  sincerely  has  come  out  to  meet  it 
even  a  little  way. 

"  As  the  Iyer  spoke  my  heart  quite  broke  :  I  saw  my 
sins  rise  before  my  eyes  as  if  a  pile  of  water  vessels  were 
placed  the  one  on  the  top  of  the  other.  And  1  saw 
those  sins  had  been  as  nails  nailing  the  Lord  to  the 
Cross.  And  I  could  not  bear  it.  And  I  went  home, 
and  my  sins  followed   me  all   the  way,  and  they  came 


"Oh  come,  let  us  Sing!"  159 

between  me  and  the  Lord,  like  a  wall  I  could  never 
climb  over  or  pass.  But  the  next  night  I  came  again. 
My  husband  came  too,  and  sat  with  the  men.  But  I — 
I  was  all  alone  in  the  crowd,  alone  with  a  voice  that 
spoke  to  me,  and  said,  '  Oh,  sinner,  see  your  sin.  It  is 
thick  between  the  Lord  and  you.'  And  then  the  Iyer 
spoke." 

Tliat  evening  the  preaching  was  about  the  putting 
away  of  sin,  and  the  same  chorus  was  often  sung, 
"  Come  to  Jesus  :  come  !  "  While  it  w^as  being  sung, 
suddenly,  or  gradually,  she  forgets  now,  it  became 
clear  to  her  that  there  was  no  hindrance  to  her  coming. 
The  hindering  thing  had  been  put  away.  Her  sin 
was  gone.  That  night  both  husband  and  wife  were 
saved. 

"  Then  life  became  all  new  to  me.  I  heard  a  lyric 
about  the  sweetness  of  Jesus,  '  Sweeter  than  honey. 
Divine  sweetness,  is  the  sweetness  of  Jesus  the  Lord,'  " 
and  she  sang  it  with  enthusiasm.  "  And  then  I  heard  a 
song  about  His  Coming  again.  '  Oh,  be  ready !  The 
Lord  Jesus  is  coming  !  Oh,  rest  your  souls  (a  new 
verse-bud,  this)  for  Jesus  is  coming !  '  And  so  no 
trouble  could  ever  seem  great,  for  as  the  dew  when  the 
sun  looks  upon  it  so  are  all  troubles  ;  they  are  passing  ! 
they  are  passing  !  And  Jesus  is  coming,  soon  coming 
again.  Now  like  the  young  rice  seeing  the  rain,  my 
heart  rejoices,"  she  concluded,  "  and  every  day  I  am 
opening  my  mouth  to  taste  more  of  the  sweetness, 
sweeter  than  honey." 

I  remembered  the  catechist's  testimony  about  her. 
"  She  sings  as  she  goes  to  her  work  on  the  hills,  and  she 


160       A  Singing  Bird  in  God's  Garden 

sings  when  she  comes  home  in  the  evening.  And  she 
sings  all  the  time  she  is  working  (except  when  she  has  to 
stop,"  he  added  truthfully),  "  she  is  always  singing  some- 
thing.  Her  life  is  all  sprinkled  with  songs."  .  God  has 
singing  birds  in  His  garden. 

But  this  singing  bird  became  slightly  ill.  The  Chris- 
tians of  Skywisdom's  village  are  working  people.  They 
start  early  for  the  mountains  where  their  work  is,  and 
return  late,  and  are,  as  one  would  expect,  a  hardy  healthy 
race.  Wisdom's  Flower  had  never  been  the  least  ill 
before.  She  did  not  understand  being  ill,  and  she 
found  the  experience  trying.  One  day  she  appeared  at 
Dohnavur  carrying  a  bundle  of  rice  :  "  I  have  come  for 
four  days ;  I  have  brought  rice  for  four  days'  food. 
Also  I  have  brought  four  annas  as  a  thankoffering  for 
healing."  And  she  dropped  her  bundle  on  the  floor  and 
the  foui pence  in  my  hand.  "  But  will  you  not  wait  till 
you  are  healed,  and  then  give  your  thankoifering  ?  " 
"  Why  should  I  wait  ?  I  thank  God  now.  This  is  my 
thanks  beforehand." 

Her  trouble  would  have  been  easily  cured.  Out  in 
the  district,  far  from  efficient  medical  help,  we  have 
constantly  to  do  the  best  we  can  for  all  sorts  of  minor 
afflictions.  This  particular  complaint  is  very  familiar, 
and  we  gave  the  appropriate  powder,  which  she  received 
with  prayer.  But  the  medicine's  activity  disturbed  her, 
and  on  the  second  day  she  came  to  us  :  "  Amma,  the 
Lord  has  healed  my  soul  of  the  disease  of  sin  '* ;  and  she 
laid  her  hand  on  the  place  where  she  beheves  her  soul 
to  be.  "  Now  this  organ  "  (naming  it  explicitly)  "  has  a 
disease  "  ;  and  she  moved  her  hand  a  little  lower  down  ; 


"Pity  my  Simplicity"  161 

"  why  should  not  He  who  healed  my  soul  heal  my  other 
organ  also  ?  " 

She  was  young  in  the  faith.  We  did  not  perplex  her 
with  grown-up  arguments.  She  followed  the  leading  she 
felt  had  been  given  ;  and  to-day,  healed  and  happy, 
God's  bird  is  singing  in  His  garden. 


II 


CHAPTER   XXI 
Dry  Land 

WE  are  often  glad  that  India  is  not  all  a  Shah  Najaf. 
And  though  we  feel  strongly  that  it  is  time 
Christ's  soldiers  were  in  more  earnest  about 
winning  the  forts  that  are  harder  to  win,  it  is  good  to 
know  there  are  many  less  inaccessible  places,  such  as 
Sky  wisdom's  village,  and  a  multitude  of  people  for  whom 
conversion  need  not  necessarily  mean  complete  social 
ostracism.  When  a  village  allows  a  Christian  of  its 
own  clan  to  continue  living  within  it,  and  to  share  its 
common  life,  there  is  hope  for  that  village.  The  light 
can  shine  from  within,  instead  of  only  from  without.  But 
even  here,  it  is  not  a  case  of  "  come,  see,  and  conquer  "  ; 
the  tactics  of  the  enemy  are  different,  his  attack  less 
ferocious  ;  but  he  is  there,  though  we  may  not  see  him 
distinctly  at  first. 

Once  more  our  story  looks  back  to  the  year  when  the 
antagonistic  town  said  "  Victory  to  Siva,"  and  saw 
victory  to  Christ.  Six  or  seven  miles  east  of  that  town 
there  is  a  village  where  nothing  of  note  had  ever 
happened,  so  far  as  anyone  knew.  Several  nominal 
Christians  lived  there,  and  the  villagers  knew  the  main 
facts    of    Christianity,  but   they  took  no  interest  in  it. 

162 


"Too    BLIND    TO    HAVE   DeSIRE   TO    SeE  "       163 

Their  field  of  thought  was  small.  All  that  makes  life 
tense,  vivid,  was  just  not  there,  or  at  least  was  not  ap- 
parent. If  you  want  to  know  how  circumscribed  village 
life  may  be,  sit  down  by  the  well  in  the  early  morning,  and 
listen  to  the  conversation.  Then  spend  the  forenoon  in 
a  friendly  courtyard.     You  will  find  food  for  reflection. 

The  village  was  fast  asleep,  what  the  Bible  calls  dead. 
A  real  fight  is  exhilarating,  but  the  stillness  of  the  sleep 
of  death  has  nothing  exciting  about  it.  In  such  places 
one's  faith  is  apt  to  lie  low,  and  one  is  inclined  to  be 
almost  quiescent.  We  need  to  be  roused  and  shamed  out 
of  our  fatal  content  to  live  while  souls  are  dead.  We 
need  to  be  reinspired  with  the  faith  that  accounts  God 
able  to  raise  them  up  even  from  the  dead. 

This  slumberous  village  was  not  closed  to  us.  It 
belonged  to  a  caste  which  was  not  affected  by  the 
happenings  elsewhere.  We  valued  the  opportunity 
to  visit  it  and  its  allied  villages  during  the  hot 
season  of  that  year,  when  distant  itineration  was 
impossible. 

Imagine  a  waste  of  blazing  sand  ;  the  reflected  2;low 
rises  up  through  the  hot  air  and  heats  it  seven  times 
hotter.  You  wonder  how  the  cactus  and  the  scrub  can 
live  in  such  hot  sand.  It  burns  the  bare  feet  of  a  boy 
as^he  runs  across  it.  But  there  is  water  near,  and  a 
perfect  oasis  of  palm.  You  pass  it,  and  cross  a  jungle 
belt.  Your  bullock  cart  presses  its  way  through  the 
thorns,  and  they  scratch  its  roof  vindictively.  On 
you  go,  and  the  thorns  grow  still  closer  and  tear 
at  your  mat  roof  more  fiercely.  At  last  you  break 
through   and  find  yourself  in  the   village,   whose   name 


164  Dry  Land 

means  the  Village  of  Sand,  but  which  we  call  the  Village 
of  Shrines. 

There  are  more  shrines  than  houses.  Small,  pyra- 
midical  red  mud  altars  stand  under  every  scrubby  tree. 
It  is  Athens  in  mud.  But  the  contrast  between  marble 
and  mud  is  as  nothing  compared  with  the  contrast  be- 
tween those  Athenians  and  these  villagers,  from  whose 
mind  nothing  is  further  than  the  desire  to  hear  or  tell 
any  new  thing.  The  Tamils  are  a  most  intelligent  race, 
and  capable  of  almost  anj^hing  ;  but  you  often  come 
across  hamlets  Hke  this  one,  buried  in  the  country, 
whose  inhabitants  know  little,  and  care  less,  about  the 
movements  of  the  world  outside  their  encompassing 
jungle.  One  would  have  expected  that  so  many  shrines 
implied  some  keenness  about  religion ;  but  if  such  a 
sentiment  existed,  it  was  most  successfully  concealed. 

Stand  now  with  us  by  these  thorn  bushes  and  look  : 
you  see  tumble-down  cottages,  built  anyhow  and  any- 
where, surrounded  by  broken  mud  walls  and  half-finished 
fences.  There  is  not  a  straight  length  of  street,  or  a 
well-swept  courtyard,  or  a  thrifty-looking  hoAestead  in 
the  place. 

A  chorus,  sung  lustily,  if  not  musically,  brings  the 
women  out  into  the  sunshine,  and,  nothing  loth,  they 
loll  about  on  their  narrow  verandah-ledges  and  gaze  at 
us  from  afar.  Another  chorus,  and  they  come  a  little 
closer.  One  of  us,  an  Indian  sister,  speaks  ; .  they  move 
off  slowly,  just  out  of  earshot,  and  begin  to  talk  to  each 
other.  The  poor  sister  looks  blank,  expostulates,  invites, 
in  vain.  Nobody  has  curiosity  enough  to  listen,  though 
they  are  willing  to  stare,  for  that  does  not  involve  an 


Hopeless?  165 

exertion.  So  we  scatter,  and  go  to  their  houses,  and  talk 
to  them  one  by  one.  Some  drift  off  to  their  work  ;  some 
listen  a  little.  The  Gospel  of  Christ  is  the  Power  of 
God,  the  Power  of  God,  we  say  to  ourselves  over  and 
over,  and  watch  to  see  it  lay  hold  on  a  soul,  and,  in  spite 
of  all  seemings,  believe  to  see.  But  just  then  and  there 
we  see  nothing  at  all.  And  we  work  our  way  back 
through  the  thorns  to  the  cart. 

We  went  again  ;  it  was  just  the  same.  Repeated  visits 
only  deepened  our  disappointment.  We  might  as  well 
have  spoken  to  their  native  sand  for  all  the  impression 
we  appeared  to  create  upon  the  people.  The  place  was 
like  a  bit  of  primeval  creation,  for  no  plant  of  the  field 
was  yet  in  the  earth,  and  no  herb  of  the  field  had  yet 
sprung  up.  It  was  just  dry  land,  so  dry  and  hard  that 
we  felt  as  if  the  little  blade  of  the  tender  grass  would 
be  hurt  and  broken  if  it  tried  to  win  its  way  through, 
anywhere — till  we  remembered  -the  mist  that  went  up 
and  watered  the  whole  face  of  the  ground ;  and  the 
imagery  of  the  65th  Psalm  seemed  illuminated  in  the 
tropical  light :  "  Thou  visitest  the  earth,  and  wa teres t  it. 
Thou  greatly  enrichest  it ;  the  river  of  God  is  full  of 
water  :  Thou  providest  them  corn  when  Thou  hast  so 
prepared  the  earth.  Thou  waterest  her  furrows  abund- 
antly ;  Thou  settlest  the  ridges  thereof  :  Thou  makest  it 
soft  with  showers  ;  Thou  blessest  the  springing  thereof." 
The  very  thought  of  it  all  brought  cool  in  the  midst  of 
the  heat. 

But  for  months  we  worked  on,  and  saw  nothing.  The 
people  listened  or  did  not  Hsten,  just  as  they  felt  inclined. 
They   never   argued   or   opposed.     They   were   not   alive 


166  Dry  Land 

enough.  Tliey  were  perfectly  content  to  be  as  they 
were.  The  vision  that  dissatisfied  was  not  yet  theirs. 
All  workers  in  all  lands  know  some  such  men  and 
women ;  know,  too,  what  it  is  to  wonder  whether  there 
is  any  use  in  going  on  trying  to  arouse  them. 

At  last  we  became  aware  of  a  certain  sensible  differ- 
ence. There  was  a  little  feeble  opposition,  which  gradu- 
ally gathered  force.  Something  was  happening.  We 
waited  awhile  before  we  could  be  sure  that  the  something 
would  develop  into  anything.  Meanwhile,  we  went  away  on 
an  itinerating  tour.  We  returned  to  find  the  first  blade 
through.  A  man  and  his  wife  in  the  Village  of  Shrines 
were  genuinely  converted.  They  had  heard  at  an  open- 
air  meeting — the  man  at  one,  the  woman  at  another. 
They  knew  very  little,  but  they  were  sure  of  that  little. 
From  that  time  forth  we  had  a  welcome  when  we  went. 

Some  months  passed,  and  we  had  a  Baptism  day. 
Then  it  came  out  that  the  wife  was  a  notable  character. 
She  had  been  a  devil-dancer  ;  and  she  had  all  the  power 
and  influence  of  one  upon  whom  the  afflatus  falls  ;  so 
her  baptism  made  a  certain  stir.  One  could  see  a  look 
upon  the  faces  of  the  people  as  they  saw  her  go  down 
into  the  water — a  wondering,  almost  frightened  look. 
There  was  a  breathless  pause  as  she  stood  there,  out 
in  the  shining  of  the  sunset, — and  then  she  came  back 
radiant.  And  we  lived  in  the  thirteenth  verse  of  our 
Psalm  that  day  :  "  They  shout  for  joy,  they  also  sing." 

But  the  Village  of  Shrines  was  still  Athens  in  mud. 
Perhaps  one  little  mud  altar  was  knocked  down  that 
day.  Scores  of  them  still  stood  hot  and  red  as  we 
passed  them  week  by  .week.     The  people  do  not  belong 


"Hope  thou  in  God"  167 

to  a  caste  which  refuses  a  Christian  house-room,  in  its 
midst,  so  our  friends  went  back  to  their  home,  and 
witnessed  bravely  there.  But  two  months  passed 
blankly.  Nobody  stirred.  The  village  seemed  to  have 
turned  in  its  sleep,  and  to  sleep  all  the  sounder  for 
having  been  roused. 

One  morning,  shortly  before  we  went,  as  we  waited 
before  the  Lord  about  the  place,  we  felt  drawn  to  ask 
for  the  conversion  of  someone  there  that  very  day. 
And  the  name  of  one,  of  whom  we  knew,  was  brought 
to  us  as  we  prayed.  We  were  pressed  to  ask  for  her. 
Everyone  who  knows  what  it  is  to  be  moved  to  pray 
in  this  way  knows  how  solemn  it  is,  and  how  easily  a 
mistake  may  be  made  ;  and  yet  when  the  pressure  comes 
we  dare  not  resist  it :  so  we  prayed. 

The  one  whose  name  was  brought  before  us  was  not 
a  woman  we  should  have  chosen.  She  was  a  temple 
devotee,  a  widow  with  two  children,  very  ignorant,  and 
so  far  as  we  knew  quite  uninterested  in  Christianity. 
Moreover,  we  did  not  know  that  she  was  in  the  village, 
and  we  did  not  know  where  her  house  was.  We  knew 
that  if  we  went  and  asked  for  her,  she  would  promptly 
hide  or  be  hidden.  So  there  was  nothing  hopeful  in 
the  prospect  from  a  human  point  of  view.  It  looked 
impossible.  But  we  have  not  to  look  at  things  from  a 
human  point  of  view,  so  that  did  not  matter,  and  "  we 
reckon  on  God  who  is  at  home  in  impossibilities." 

When  this  prayer  was  laid  on  us,  there  were  two  of 
our  little  band  who  felt  puzzled.  They  said,  "  But  how 
shall  we  find  her  ?  "  As  our  cart  broke  through  the 
thorn  bushes,  and  we  got  out  and  stood  on  the  sand,  a 


168  Dry  Land 

woman  in  white  ran  out  of  a  house  near  by  and  flung 
herself  down  on  the  ground  at  our  feet.  It  was  this 
very  woman.  I  had  not  seen  her  before  ;  but  I  knew  in 
a  moment  by  the  band  sisters'  faces  that  it  must  be  she. 

We  drew  her  aside,  and  she  followed  as  one  in  a 
trance.  We  got  her  into  the  prayer-room,  and  tried  to 
find  out  what  had  brought  her  to  us,  for  never  before 
had  we  seen  one  come  like  that,  unless  she  was  in  bodily 
need  and  eagerly  craving  help.  She  had  nothing  to  say 
about  it.  Then  we  told  her  how  we  had  prayed.  She 
did  not  understand.  There  she  sat  on  the  floor,  and  we 
beside  her,  a  dull,  stupid,  uninteresting  woman,  without 
the  least  apparent  desire  after  God,  yet  "  He  died  for 
desire  of  her."  We  looked  at  her,  and  read  the  writing 
on  her  forehead  which  no  earth  soil  could  quite  obliterate, 
"  For  whom  Christ  died." 

Stupid  was  what  she  seemed  at  first ;  imbecile  was 
what  she  seemed  after  half  an  hour's  endeavour  to  get 
one  thought  into  her  mind.  Every  few  minutes  she 
glanced  at  the  door  as  if  meditating  an  escape.  W*? 
tried  to  put  things  before  her  in  simple  ways,  using 
familiar  illustrations  to  arrest  her  attention.  But  after 
a  time  we  began  to  doubt  whether  she  was  capable  of 
pajring  attention  to  anything.  We  almost  gave  up  at 
last.  She  did  not  want  to  listen,  she  only  wanted  to 
get  away.  And  yet  she  had  come  of  her  own  accord. 
We  were  mystified.  Then  a  bystander  said  something 
which  threw  a  light  upon  it.  I  did  not  stop  to  think 
of  all  that  was  meant  at  that  moment ;  but  realising 
that  talking  was  useless,  and  holding  her  lest  she 
should  slip  away,  we  knelt  do^\^l  beside  her  and  prayed. 


CHAPTER   XXII 
^^  Let  it  bring  forth  tender  Grass  " 

WHEN  we  rose  from  our  knees  we  saw  a  change  in 
the  devotee's  face  and  manner.     Those  who  have 
seen  such  changes  wrought  will  understand :  to 
those  who  have  not,  all  this  tale  will  seem  foolishness. 
There  was  no  violent  emotion  ;    but  something  had  gone, 
something  had  come.     Rather,  Some  One  had  come. 

She  began  to  pray  herself.  What  she  said  was  a 
medley  of  heathen  phrases  mixed  with  a  word  of  sense 
here  and  there.  Wisdom,  the  ex-devil-dancer  who  had 
joined  us,  looked  shocked.  We  told  her  God  would  wash 
the  prayer  clean  and  make  it  all  right.  But  Wisdom 
drew  us  aside.  "  You  do  not  know  her  as  we  know  her," 
she  said,  and  amplified  the  word  dropped  by  the  by- 
stander :  "  she  is  possessed  by  a  strong  demon.  I  used 
to  serve  devils.  I  know  all  about  it.  Sometimes  I  too 
was  possessed.  But  she  is  different  entirely.  She  sold 
herself  to  her  demon,  and  he  abides  in  her  continually. 
Often  he  seizes  her  and  makes  her  do  terrible  things  in 
his  name.  She  is  helpless  in  his  hands.  Between  times 
she  is  as  you  see  her,  like  one  without  a  mind.  We 
think  she  is  insane.  This  praying  is  not  real.  Do  not 
believe  in  her.       You  will  be  disappointed  afterwards." 


170     "Let  it  bring  forth  tender  Grass" 

The  only  perplexity  to  Wisdom  was  the  devotee's  coming 
to  us.  All  the  rest  was  plain  hypocrisy  or  stupidity,  or 
both.  Her  coming  in  that  strange  way  was  inexplicable 
upon  either  theory.  The  devotee  lived  her  life  alone, 
and  never  went  near  the  Christians. 

But  to  me  this  fact  was  eloquent.  I  had  not  thought 
of  her  as  possessed.  As  I  saw  her  there  was  nothing 
of  the  special  phenomena  we  associate  with  such  in- 
habitation. She  seemed  to  us  the  dullest  of  all  the  dull 
women  we  had  seen  in  that  dull  village,  the  deadest  of 
the  dead.  There  was  nothing  uncanny  about  her,  nothing 
impressive.  The  one  remarkable  thing  was  just  her 
coming  to  us  as  she  did,  rushing  straight  for  us  when  we 
appeared,  falling  down  at  our  feet.  "  They  arrived  at 
the  country  of  the  Gadarenes.  And  when  He  went  forth 
to  land  there  met  Him  out  of  the  city  a  certain  man 
which  had  devils  long  time.  When  he  saw  Jesus  he 
cried  out  and  fell  down  before  Him."  Could  her  coming 
so  be  chance  ?  Was  it  not  that  the  Spirit  before  whom 
devils  quail  had  drawn  her  to  meet  Him  who  had  come 
to  her  village,  and  caused  her  to  fall  down  before  Him  ? 
For  He  must  have  been  with  us  according  to  His  promise 
as  we  stood  on  the  sand  by  the  cart.  There  are  times 
when  one  feels  that  if  a  Voice  spoke  one's  name,  and  one 
turned  and  saw  Him — Rabboni,  Master — it  could  hardly 
be  a  surprise. 

Wisdom  and  her  husband,  who  had  returned  from 
work,  listened  at  first  rather  doubtfully.  "  The  heavens 
touch  the  earth  on  the  horizon  of  our  vision,  but  it 
always  seems  farthest  to  the  sky  from  the  spot  where 
we  stand."     It  is  easier  to  believe  in  miracles  happening 


"He  is  hushing  me".  171 

a  long  way  off  than  just  here.  But  as  we  talked  together 
it  was  as  if  we  were  all  swung  up  to  higher  altitudes 
of  faith  and  expectation.  Husband  and  wife,  our  little 
band,  and  the  bewildered  devotee  knelt  down  in  Wisdom's 
courtyard,  and  praised  God,  and  asked  for  perfect 
recovery,  mental  health,  and  spiritual  health.  And  then 
putting  the  devotee's  hand  in  Wisdom's  we  left  her  to 
her  care.  A  few  weeks  afterwards  the  message  reached 
us,  "  Come  quickly.     The  devotee's  only  daughter  is  dead." 

A  blow  like  this  often  follows  the  first  turning  towards 
Christ,  and  if  the  new  convert  is  not  staggered  by  it, 
another  often  follows  confession  in  baptism.  This  is 
another  of  the  facts  we  never  concern  ourselves  to 
explain.     We  only  know  it  happens  so. 

We  went  at  once.  We  found  the  poor  mother  sitting 
quietly  with  Wisdom,  in  Wisdom's  little  house.  She 
was  in  sore  grief,  but  perfectly  calm.  "  Jesus  is  holding 
me  in  His  arms,  as  I  held  my  child  when  she  was  a 
babe.  He  is  hushing  me,"  she  said.  We  could  hardly 
believe  that  she  was  the  one  who  had  seemed  so 
imbecile. 

The  heathen  were  jubilant,  quite  sure  they  would 
have  her  back.  "  Did  we  not  warn  you  ?  Did  we  not 
tell  you  your  demon  would  avenge  himself  ?  Now  he 
has  taken  your  golden  girl.  Next  he  will  take  your 
eye's  jewel  (her  boy).  Lastly,  he  will  come  for  you. 
You  will  surely  all  be  slain  :  and  we  shall  see." 

There  was  cause  for  their  words.  In  a  neighbouring 
village  a  devil- dancer  of  some  note  had  recently  publicly 
professed  faith  in  Christ.  Two  days  later  her  only  son 
sickened  with  cholera  and  died.      Trouble  upon  trouble 


172     ''Let  it  bring  forth  tender  Grass" 

followed  till  she  yielded ;  then  all  went  well.  So  their 
talk  stirred  up  every  superstitious  fear,  and  blew  upon 
AVisdom's  friend  from  all  four  sides  at  once.  Would  she 
stand  ?     She  stood.     "  For  He  is  holding  me,"  she  said. 

Months  of  trial  followed.  Her  boy  was  a  constant 
source  of  anxiety.  Any  little  ailment  seemed  serious. 
"  Is  what  they  are  saying  true  ?  Will  he,  too,  die  ?  " 
she  asked  us  one  day  pitifully.  But  she  learned  to  roll 
her  burden  off,  and  not  to  take  it  back.  She  was  spared 
this  crowning  grief.  Her  boy  was  protected,  her  faith 
braced. 

One  of  the  wonderful  things  to  watoh  in  connection 
with  the  devotee  was  the  change  that  passed  over  her 
face.  It  had  been  coarse.  It  became  refined.  That 
refinement  of  expression,  which  so  occupies  you  as  you 
look  that  you  do  not  notice  fleshly  details,  was  hers 
now — "  For  soule  is  forme,  and  doth  the  bodie  make." 
Her  mind  was  renew^ed.  It  was  good  to  see  it  clearing 
as  the  landscape  clears  in  the  morning.  We  read 
learned  disquisitions  on  the  impossibility  of  the  Creative 
Word  taking  immediate  and  visible  effect.  "  Let  there 
be  light :  and  there  was  light,"  is  too  simple  for  our 
wisdom  now  —  or  too  profound  ?  And  we  turn  from 
the  book's  page  straight  to  life's,  and  wonder  as  we  loolc, 
spelling  slowly  out  the  words  that  are  being  written 
there,  whether  those  who  write  in  the  other  books  have 
watched  God  writing  His.  Perhaps  they  have  not  the 
leisure  of  Manoah  and  his  wife,  who,  when  the  Angel  did 
wondrously,  looked  on. 

God,  who  quickeneth  the  dead,  and  calleth  the  things 
that  are  not  as  though  they  were,  God  whose  Creative 


"If  it  be  not  He,  then  Who  is  it?"     173 

Word  does  take  immediate  and  visible  effect  upon  that 
mysterious  Thing,  more  mysterious  than  matter,  which 
we  call  Soul :  God,  Creator,  and  Saviour,  did  won- 
drously  ;  and  we  looked  on. 

The  temple  devotee  was  that  no  longer.  She  with- 
drew at  once  from  all  connection  with  the  temple.  Her 
boy  had  been  trained  to  chant  prayers  and  idol  songs, 
for  which  service  the  priests  paid  well.  She  took  him 
away  and  sent  him  to  school  This  left  her  poor  ;  but 
she  got  some  humble  work  in  the  village,  and  from  the 
first  spent  her  spare  time  in  what  she  called  "  looking 
for  lost  sheep."  She  and  Wisdom  talked  to  their  neigh- 
bours, and  went  about  where  they  could,  telling  any  who 
would  listen  about  Jesus. 


CHArTER   XXTII 
"And  it  was  so" 

THREE  or  four  years  after  her  conversion  the  devotee, 
Pearl  Shell,  got  work  in  a  market  town  some  miles 
from  her  native  village.  Before  she  had  been  long 
there  she  heard  of  a  young  girl  who  was  shut  up  in  the 
town,  and  often  mercilessly  beaten  because  it  was  known 
that  she  wanted  to  be  a  Christian. 

The  year  which  we  look  back  upon  as  the  year  of 
beginning  of  battles  had  been  full  of  the  sort  of  sorrow 
which  battles  mean.  When  the  houses  closed,  as  we 
told  before,  they  closed  upon  eager,  earnest,  little  hearts. 
Six  children  who,  we  knew^  were  much  interested,  lost 
all  chance  of  hearing  more.  They  were  punished  for 
wanting  to  hear.  We  heard  of  these  punishments,  and 
we  felt  as  a  mother  would  feel  if  her  little  ones  were 
being  badly  hurt,  and  strong  hands  heM  her  from 
running  to  them.     One  by  one  all  the  six  gave  way. 

So  often  it  is  just  like  that  :  the  plant  is  sending 
rootlets  out :  it  will  grip  if  it  has  time. .  Suddenly, 
fiercely  downward  sweeps  a  great  wind  from  the  wilder- 
ness, and  we  see  what  looks  like  our  little  plant  flying 
with  other  frightened  things  in  the  dust  before  the 
storm.     The    great    wind    passes.     We    search    for    our 

I7i 


"Pierced  with  Pain"  175 

plant.  We  find  it  at  last  quite  withered  and  dead, 
with  dead  white  roots  like  tangled  threads,  lying  limp 
on  a  heap  of  leaves,  the  debris  of  the  storm.  And  only 
yesterday,  perhaps,  we  were  glad  because  it  was  alive. 

There  was  one,  a  seventh,  Sixfaced  by  name,  whom 
we  did  not  count,  because  she  had  not  been  properly 
taught.  She  had  only  heard  a  little  in  an  open-air 
meeting.  She  came,  after  hearing  that  little,  and  asked 
us  to  keep  her.  She  wanted  to  join  our  Way,  she  said. 
But  she  was  much  too  young,  and  her  knowledge  of  the 
Way  she  wished  to  join  was  so  very  limited  that  we  did 
not  seriously  consider  her  proposal,  but  we  sent  her 
home,  promising  to  call  and  ask  her  people  to  allow 
us  to  teach  her. 

We  called  as  we  promised,  and  we  saw  that  child 
punished  for  having  wished  to  be  taught.  The  shock 
would  hurt  if  we  told  how  she  was  punished.  Some  of 
us  have  to  stand  such  shocks,  and  they  send  us  home 
tingling  in  every  nerve,  as  if  the  blows  had  been  twice 
our  own,  and  they  set  our  whole  being  crying  to  God, 
"  How  long  ?   how  long  ?  " 

After  the  punishment  the  child  was  hurried  away  to 
the  town  where  Pearl  Shell  had  found  work.  For  three 
years  we  heard  nothing  of  her.  When  Pearl  Shell's 
message  reached  us  we  felt  sure  that  Sixfaced  must  be 
the  girl  in  question.  Inquiries  proved  it  was  so.  We 
urged  Pearl  Shell  to  try  to  see  her  and  to  comfort  her. 

Pearl  Shell  found  it  difficult.  Sixfaced  was  kept  in 
what  was  virtually  imprisonment.  Occasionally  the  sound 
of  blows  and  broken  cries  reached  the  outer  world.  Once 
the  Hindu  neighbours  interfered.     But  such  interference 


176  "  And  it  was  so" 

is  not  popular  nor  often  possible  in  India.  The  uncle 
in  whose  guardianship  the  girl  was,  had  killed  her 
mother  in  a  fit  of  passion.  Money  had  changed  hands. 
The  thing  had  been  hushed  up.  But  men  feared  him  ; 
the  defenceless  child  was  wholly  in  his  power. 

One  day,  she  tells  us  now,  he  had  held  her  down 
firmly  with  one  hand,  while  he  struck  her  with  the 
other,  shouting  between  each  blow,  "  This  is  for  daring  to 
persist  that  yon  will  join  the  Christian  Way."  She  had 
almost  utterly  given  up  hope  of  m\j  deliverance  reaching 
her,  but  a  new  hope  shot  through  her.  She  would  pray. 
She  had  only  once  seen  a  Christian  pray.  She  tried  to 
recall  how  we  did  it.  But  the  excitement  of  those  few 
hurried  minutes,  when,  three  years  ago,  she  had  pleaded 
with  us  to  keep  her,  had  blotted  out  memory  of  detail. 
She  only  remembered  we  spoke  to  the  One  we  called 
Jesus,  the  Loving  Saviour,  and  that  we  had  assured  her 
He  heard.  So  she  joined  her  hands  in  the  heathen  way, 
and,  with  wide-open  eyes  looking  timidly  round  lest  her 
dreaded  uncle  should  see,  she  repeated  often  her  single 
petition,  "  Keep  my  uncle  from  beating  me."  She  did 
not  expect  to  hear  a  voice  answer.  No  voice  had 
answered  when  we  spoke  in  the  bungalow.  But  she 
waited  a  minute,  and  felt  comforted,  she  says.  The 
room  in  which  she  was  had  grown  dark.  She  remem- 
bered a  fragment  of  truth  she  knew,  that  this  Jesus 
Saviour  had  once  been  beaten,  and  then  fastened  (how, 
she  did  not  know)  to  a  piece  of  wood  till  He  died.  As 
He  had  been  beaten,  He  must  know  how  very  much  it 
hurt.  She  let  the  strange  comfort  of  this  thought  sink 
down    to    the    depths    of    her    weary    heart.     Then    she 


''Kneel  to  Know"  177 

slipped  out  of  tlie  room.  Her  uncle  was  standing  close 
to  the  door.  She  trembled  as  she  saw  him.  But  he  did 
not  speak  to  her.     He  never  beat  her  again. 

After  this  she  seems  to  have  understood  she  could 
pray  about  everything.  Once  a  marriage  seemed  immi- 
nent :  "  Jesus,  0  Jesus  !  stop  it.  Do  not  let  me  be 
tied."  The  marriage  fell  through.  Then  the  relatives 
tried  to  entangle  her  by  means  of  a  kind  of  lottery.  On 
a  certain  day,  always  postponed,  a  large  sum  of  money 
and  some  jewels  would  fall  to  her  share  :  "  Jesus,  0 
Jesus !  let  not  my  heart  become  caught  by  money  and 
jewels."     And  so  she  was  kept. 

But  Sixfaced,  by  the  time  Pearl  Shell  after  many  vain 
attempts  came  in  touch  with  her,  was  discouraged.  She 
had  waited  through  those  three  years  in  hope  that  we 
would  come  for  her.  We  had  told  her,  little  thinking 
how  eagerly  she  would  remember  it,  that  we  could  not 
protect  her  till  she  was  sixteen.  She  beheved  herself 
sixteen  now,  and,  not  realising  how  impossible  action 
on  our  part  was,  she  could  not  understand  our  silence. 
For  we  had  to  be  all  but  silent.  We  sent  messages 
of  love  and  sympathy  to  her  through  Pearl  Shell,  as  soon 
as  we  knew  where  she  was.  But  we  could  not  say  one 
word  which  could  afterwards  be  translated  into  an 
invitation  to  come  to  us.  We  had  no  means  of  knowing 
that  she  was  still  steadfast,  for  much  I  have  written  was 
at  that  time  unknown  to  us,  and  an  Indian  girl's  strength 
is  not  a  thing  to  be  counted  upon.  But  Pearl  Shell 
determined  to  help  her  to  escape,  and  she  prayed 
with  the  simple  courage  of  faith  for  guidance  in  this 
difficult  matter. 

12 


178  "And  it  was  so" 

It  was  most  difficult.  Sixfaced  did  not  look  sixteefii. 
How  was  slie  to  be  proved  over  sixteen  ?  She  was 
an  orphan.  The  uncle,  her  guardian,  could  easily  "  prove  " 
her  any  age  ho  wished.  It  is  a  criminal  offence  to  con- 
cern oneself  with  a  minor's  escape  from  her  home.  Pearl 
Shell  knew^  little  of  legal  compHcations,  but  she  did 
know  that  the  caste  could  kill  her  if  she  did  it.  And 
the  town  was  full  of  eyes. 

One  day  wdien  she  was  praying  she  believed  that 
she  was  told  to  go  to  a  certain  stream,  where  sometimes 
Sixfaced  was  sent  to  bathe,  and  there  to  arrange  with 
her  (the  opportunity,  she  believed,  would  be  given)  to 
walk  out  of  the  town  there  and  then,  in  faith  that  the 
eyes  of  the  people  they  would  meet  would  be  kept  from 
seeing  them.  To  that  poor  ignorant  woman  the  thought 
was  overwhelming.  How  could  she  dare  do  such  a 
thing  1     She  did  it. 

She  went  to  the  stream,  found  Sixfaced  there,  had  a 
chance  for  a  word  alone.  The  girl,  in  utmost  simplicity, 
believed  God  would  work  a  miracle  and  "  blind  the  eyes  "  of 
the  people,  her  caste  men,  she  knew  they  were  sure  to  meet. 
Together  these  two  walked  straight  from  that  stream, 
through  the  streets,  and  out  of  the  town.  When  we  heard 
it  we  hardly  believed  it ;   it  sounded  so  impossible. 

For  three  long  miles  they  walked  along  the  highway 
leading  from  that  town  to  the  village  where  we  used  to 
live.  There  they  were  welcomed  by  the  pastor  and  his 
wife.  There  they  heard  the  good  news  that  next  day 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Walker  w^ere  expected,  en  route  for  Doh- 
navur,  from  Ceylon.  "  Lord,  thou  kuowest  we  cannot 
protect  this  girl,   if  her   people   come   in  strength,"   the 


"Rejoice  with  Me"  170 

pastor  prayed,  "  hinder  them  that  they  may  not  come 
till  the  Iyer  and  the  Ammal  arrive  from  Ceylon."  This 
prayer  was  answered.  The  uncle  was  hindered  in  his 
purpose  to  gather  his  castemen  and  carry  his  niece  ofE 
by  force.  Knowing  nothing  of  the  circumstances,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Walker  came  just  in  time  to  stand  by  Six- 
faced  through  the  ordeal  of  facing  her  relations.  Legal 
questions  were  not  raised.  Four  days  afterwards  the 
joyful  jingle  of  bullock  bells  brought  us  all  out  in 
expectancy.  Such  moments  in  missionary  lives  are 
Overweights  of  Joy. 

Far  more  than  Overweights  !  Oh,  the  joy  that  cannot 
be  measured  when  the  Shepherd  says,  "Rejoice  with 
Me  !  "  Can  any  words  describe  it  ?  "I  have  such  an 
intense  recollection  of  the  joy  that  comes  in  the  work  at 
times,"  writes  a  Japanese  missionary,  "  that  I  am  half 
afraid  of  giving  exaggerated  impressions  to  people  at 
home.  Some  people  do  seem  to  think  it  so  extraordinary. 
Of  course  there  are  disappointments  and  discouraging 
times,  which  come  very  often.  Still  I  don't  think  there 
can  be  any  other  joy  in  the  world  quite  like  the  joy  of 
being  with  Christ  when  He  finds  a  soul  that  has  been 
out  in  the  dark  all  its  life." 

There  was  much  to  hear  ;  and  as  we  heard  it  told  so 
simply,  we  felt  as  if  this  unknown  one  had  sung  her  part 
in  the  martyr's  song — 

*'  But  I,  amid  the  tortui'8  and  the  taunting, 
I  have  had  Thee. 
Thy  hand  was  holding  my  hand  fast  and  faster. 

Thy  voice  was  close  to  me ; 
And  glorious  eyes  said,  '  Follow  Me,  thy  Master ; 
Smile  as  I  smile,  thy  faithfulness  to  see.'  " 


180  "And  it  was  so" 

Perhaps  this  is  too  noble  a  song  to  fit  in  Hps  so  ignorant. 
She  did  not  know  enough  to  rise  so  high. 

Sometimes  so  many  agencies  are  used  towards  the 
conversion  of  a  soul  that  we  almost  lose  sight  of  the 
arm  of  the  Lord  for  the  sleeve  which  covers  it.  But 
here  it  was  laid  bare.  Surely  that  child  was  kept  and 
led  by  a  Power  most  evidently  Divine  that  all  "  may 
know  that  this  is  Thy  hand  ;  that  Thou,  Lord,  hast 
done  it." 

Sixfaced  (now  called  Gladness)  had  everything  to 
learn.  When  for  the  first  time  she  heard  the  full  story 
of  our  Lord's  crucifixion  she  was  broken-hearted.  We 
read  it  to  her  slowly,  verse  by  verse,  from  the  19th 
chapter  of  St.  John.  She  had  never  seen  it  pictured  ; 
but  as  the  words  of  that  ancient  writing  dropped  into 
her  soul,  they  became  spirit  and  life  :  it  was  as  if  a 
picture  were  being  drawn  and  coloured  before  her. 
Together  we  sat  in  silence  at  the  foot  of  the  Cross, 
looking. 

C.  H.  Tyndall,  in  his  book  Electricity  and  its  Simili- 
tudes, shows  how  the  intellectual  and  physical  deficiency 
which  makes  us  insensible  to  the  finer  forms  of  electrical 
energy  about  us,  is  analogous  to  our  spiritual  insensitive- 
ness.  If  only  we  had  an  "  electric  eye,"  an  "  electric 
sense,"  what  a  world  of  wonder  would  open  to  us.  If 
only  the  spirit  within  us  were  more  sensitive  to  spiritual 
impressions,  what  surprises  God  could  give  us,  what 
passion  of  joy  !  Or  perhaps  an  unspeakable  awe  would 
fall  such  as  fell  upon  us  then ;  for  as  we  sat  together, 
suddenly  the  denseness  of  the  flesh  seemed  to  become  thin. 
Almost  that  keener  sense  was  given,  almost  that  vision 


"He  says  He  will  go  back  with  me"     181 

that  pierces  through  sense,  till,  aware  by  some  quick 
apprehension  of  a  Presence  moving  somewhere  near,  our 
very  soul  trembled.  The  moment  flashed  for  us  and 
passed.  No  effort  of  will  could  recall  it.  Perhaps  such 
moments  long  detained  would  be  too  intense  for  the 
mortal  in  us.  We  turned  again  to  the  usual.  But  that 
moment's  mark  has  not  passed. 

The  devotee  to  whose  simple  courage  we  owed  so 
much  did  not  feel  courageous.  She  would  have  been 
astonished  had  she  known  we  thought  her  so.  She  feared 
to  return  to  the  town.  Some  child  might  have  seen  her 
with  the  girl,  though  apparently  no  grown  person  had. 
A  child  can  talk.  She  dreaded  the  vengeance  of  the 
caste.  She  knew  only  too  well  what  a  mob  of  infuriated 
men  and  women  can  do.  She  knew,  too,  what  can  be  done 
without  a  mob,  in  secret.  She,  an  unprotected  widow, 
to  live  among  those  people  !  At  first  she  felt  she  could 
not ;  it  would  be  like  living  over  a  smouldering  fire. 
But  she  prayed.  Then  she  said  in  a  quiet,  matter-of-fact 
fashion  :  "He  says  He  will  go  back  with  me  "  ;  and 
she  went  back.  When  we  heard  about  it  we  thought 
it  heroic. 

Think  of  what  she  was.  God  called  the  dry  land 
Earth.    We  described  the  dry  land  poorly  : 

"  Fuller  for  him  be  the  hours  !  I 

Give  him  emotion  though  pain  ! 
Let  him  live.     Let  liim  feel  /  have  lived. 
Heap  up  his  moments  with  life. 
Triple  his  pulses  with  fame  !  " 

Take  these  five  lines.  Divest  them  of  every  iota 
of    force.    Reverse  them.     Let    them    he    out    languid, 


182  "And  it  was  so" 

nerveless.     There   you  have  the  type  we  have  tried  to 
show — the  hfeless,  the  dry  land  God  called  Earth. 

God  said,  "  Let  the  earth  bring  forth  tender  grass,  the 
herb  yielding  seed,  and  the  fruit  tree  yielding  fruit  after 
his  kind,  whose  seed  is  in  itself.     And  it  was  so." 


^•i»,aa««*<ii&fts#^-  • 


i 


CHAPTER   XXIV 
^'  Hold  me  on  with  a  steady  Pace " 

WHEN  a  convert  comes  out,  and  especially  after  she 
is  baptized,  those  who  have  faithfully  prayed  so 
far  draw  a  breath  of  rehef.  She  is  safe  now, 
they  think,  and  relax.  Intensity  in  anything  is  tiring. 
Intensity  in  prayer  leaves  us  spent.  But  it  is  not  safe 
to  relax. 

In  the  year  1897  a  South  Indian  missionary,  the  leader 
of  a  men's  Itinerancy,  in  writing  to  his  committee  about 
his  Band,  mentioned  one  especially  as  being  very  earnest. 
In  compiling  the  year's  report,  attention  was  drawn  to 
this  man  by  a  marginal  note,  "  A  successful  soul- winner." 
"  The  leader,"  the  text  said,  "  knows  few  men  who  seem 
so  wholly  fitted  as  he  is  to  point  men  to  the  Saviour." 
When  this  was  written  it  was  true.  Before  the  printed 
report  reached  South  India  the  successful  soul-winner 
was  back  in  Hinduism  ;  to-day  he  is  a  Saivite,  an  avowed 
worshipper  of  Siva. 

He  was  one  of  the  first  converts  I  knew  intimately. 
He  came  with  the  men's  Band  to  preach  in  the  villages 
round  our  home.  Every  day  at  noon  we  used  to  teach 
the  men  new  choruses,  and  the  man  who  struck  us  most 
because    of   his   keenness   in   learning   the   choruses   and 

1S3 


184     "Hold  me  on  with  a  steady  Pace" 

delight  in  using  tliem  was  Spiritual-Guide,  as  his  name 
means,  a  man  with  a  strong  thoughtful  face,  and  a  kind, 
frank  manner.  The  chorus  which  had  helped  Star,  as  a 
child,  was  the  one  he  appropriated  at  once,  "  Jesus  loves, 
saves,  keeps."  He  used  to  sing  it  all  over  the  com- 
pound, and  once  in  a  dry  meeting  of  nominal  Christians 
this  convert  from  Hinduism  startled  the  dulness  by- 
breaking  out  with  his  chorus,  and  then  pleading  with 
those  cold  hearts  to  let  the  love  of  Jesus  in.  For  three 
years  he  worked  in  the  men's  Itinerancy.  He  had 
special  access  to  the  Brahmans  because  of  his  perfect 
command  of  the  higher  Tamil  language,  and  once  he  had 
won  a  hearing,  his  fervency  held  them  to  listen  to  the 
end.  He  was  beloved  by  the  band's  leader,  and 
thoroughly  trusted  by  all.  Suddenly  one  day  they 
missed  him,  found  he  had  gone  to  the  nearest  great 
Saivite  temple,  and  traced  him  home.  He  was  last  seen 
sitting  on  the  ground  as  a  Hindu  guru,  with  a  rosary 
of  Siva's  berries  round  his  neck,  and  Siva's  ashes  smeared 
on  his  forehead. 

In  the  midst  of  his  student  days  M'Cheyne  prayed, 
"  God  hold  me  on  with  a  steady  pace  !  "  God  hold  us  on 
with  a  steady  pace  in  prayer  for  those  who  have  lately 
come  out  of  Hinduism,  lest  we  stop  before  the  goal  is 
reached.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  in  India,  at  least,  de- 
fection is  a  possible  contingency  which  can  never  be 
ignored.  There  are  fine  threads  woven  round  the  newly 
won  convert's  soul  which  even  his  break  from  Hinduism 
has  not  wholly  snapped  :  these  threads  can  pull.  He 
hears  voices  inaudible  to  us,  or  if  audible,  unmean- 
ing ;  to  him  they  are  intense  in  meaning,  wooing  as  siren 


X 


Side-tracked  185 

songs.  There  are  influences  about  him  of  which  we  are 
not  sensible.  Oh  for  more  discerning  sympathy  with 
those  whose  temptations,  like  their  sorrows,  pass  the 
bounds  of  our  experience  ! 

A  potent  cause  of  declension  where  the  truly  earnest 
are  concerned  is  found  in  the  weariness  of  repulse  day 
after  day,  as  the  message  they  are  so  eager  to  give  is 
carelessly  and  often  contemptuously  refused.  Christ 
lifted  up  does  draw.  A  missionary  on  fire  to  see  souls 
saved  does  see  souls  saved.  But  it  is  no  less  true  that 
often  the  call  is  to  enter  deep  into  the  fellowship  of  His 
sufferings.  Then,  if  this  aspect  of  things  is  forgotten, 
and  we  look  around  instead  of  up  into  the  face  of  Jesus, 
we  get  hopeless,  and  cold  and  hard,  uncaring  that  souls 
are  perishing.  From  this  the  step  is  easy  to  slackness  in 
effort  for  them  and  indolence  in  prayer.  Then  we  get 
side-tracked,  engrossed  in  something  other  than  what 
makes  for  the  winning  of  souls ;  and  Satan,  content, 
directs  his  attention  elsewhere.  Something  of  the  same 
sort  happens  if  the  worker  is  a  Christian  born.  If  he  is 
a  convert  he  retrogrades  often  irreparably. 

Perhaps  the  strain  to  which  those  for  whom  we  now 
ask  your  special  prayer  are  subjected,  will  be  better 
understood  if  I  tell  you  what  has  lately  happened  here. 

About  two  miles  from  Dohnavur,  across  a  bare  bit  of 
scorching  plain,  there  is  a  small  old-fashioned  place 
called  the  Village  of  the  Temple.  None  of  us  may  walk 
down  the  Brahman  street.  When  the  men's  Itinerating 
Band  comes  round  it  has  to  stand  at  the  end  of  the  street 
and  speak  down  it  to  any  who  will  condescend  to  listen. 
The  w^omen  of  this  village  were  unevangelised  when  we 


186     "Hold  me  on  with  a  steady  Pack" 

first  went  there.  Two  of  the  converts,  Star  and  Joy, 
went  regularly  with  an  older  woman  for  several  months. 
Then  the  great  heat  of  March  and  early  April  almost 
forced  them  to  desist,  for  the  plain  is  quite  imshaded  on 
that  side,  and  they  are  not  accustomed  to  exposure.  But 
they  would  not  give  in.  and  toiled  on  till  the  following 
November,  with  only  a  six  weeks'  break  when  we  went 
to  the  hills.  The  monsoon  rains  then  threatened  to  stop 
them.  They  waded  sometimes  knee-deep  through  the 
morass  rather  than  miss  their  afternoon  for  that  village. 
They  had  their  reward  in  winning  an  entrance  to  many 
houses  there. 

At  last,  to  their  delight,  they  saw  what  they  believed 
was  the  first  green  blade.  They  almost  ran  as  they 
came  home  to  tell  us  of  it.  A  girl  of  eighteen,  un- 
accountably still  unmarried,  wanted  to  be  a  Christian  ; 
she  had  let  her  people  know  ;  they  did  not  seem  opposed. 
It  sounded  too  good  to  be  true.  And  another,  lately 
married,  had  begun  to  talk  to  her  husband,  who  also 
seemed  interested.  Two  little  slender  blades  of  hope, 
but  how  precious  to  the  sowers,  to  whom  they  were  the 
earnest  of  a  harvest  that  seemed  to  their  quickened 
imagination  quite  near  that  day. 

A  few  weeks  passed  ;  the  two  first  to  become  impressed 
went  on  satisfactorily ;  others  began  to  learn,  others 
wanted  to  learn.  One  of  these  last  was  a  young  girl 
whose  face,  looking  through  a  window,  attracted  them  as 
they  passed.  They  stopped  at  the  door,  and  asked  a 
middle-aged  man  who  was  working  at  a  fine  gold  chain 
on  the  verandah  if  they  might  come  in.  He  answered 
curtly    that    his    sister    had    no    time    for    conversation. 


Typical  young  wife  of  a  less  refined  type  than  Beautiful 


A  Woman's  Caste  is  her  Religion      187 

They  passed  on,  but  as  they  passed  they  caught  another 
glimpse  of  the  bright  face  with  its  dark  sparkUng  eyes, 
and  a  curious  quick  sympathy  sprang  into  hfe  between 
them.  Each  drew  to  the  other  without  the  interchange 
of  words. 

Shortly  afterwards  I  went  to  see  the  obdurate  brother. 
Lean  of  soul  he  seemed,  and  stiff  of  mind.  "  Beautiful, 
my  sister,  is  busy  ;  she  has  no  time  to  receive  instruc- 
tion." Pressed  further,  he  declared  himself  adverse  to 
this  new-fangled  teaching  of  women,  "  who  are  inferior 
beings,  to  whom  religion  does  not  pertain,  whose  whole 
duty  consists  in  obedience.  A  woman's  caste  is  her  reli- 
gion ;  her  husband  is  her  god." 

Beautiful  listened  to  her  brother's  tirade  from  a  dark 
corner  behind  the  door.  She  had  heard  it  a  hundred 
times  before,  saw  nothing  unnatural  in  it.  But  all  the 
same  she  craved  for  more.  She  had  been  made  for 
more  than  this.  And  through  her  cousin,  the  unmarried 
girl  who  had  begun  to  be  interested,  she  came  to  an 
understanding  with  our  girls  that  sooner  or  later  she 
would  hear  all  they  could  tell  her  about  Jesus.  We 
think  her  idea  was  that,  after  her  marriage,  which  was 
impending,  she  would  be  able  to  learn.  But  she  was 
married  into  a  family  resident  twenty  miles  distant. 
So  that  plan  failed. 

For  some  months  after  her  marriage  all  went  well. 
Her  mother  answered  our  questions  as  to  her  health 
and  happiness  with  a  smihng  face.  Beautiful  had 
married  well.  The  jewels  she  wore  were  magnificent. 
Her  new  relations  were  charmed  with  her  ;  the  mother 
was    content.     But    suddenly,    as    things    happen    here, 


188     "Hold  me  on  with  a  steady  Pace" 

we  heard  that  Beautiful  was  dead, — had  hanged  her- 
self. 

Gradually  the  truth  oozed  out.  Beautiful's  caste,  like 
all  strict  castes,  forbids  the  eating  of  flesh  food.  But 
as  a  concession  to  the  needs  of  young  children,  fish 
is  allowed  till  the  marriage  day.  After  that,  never. 
Beautiful  conformed  of  course  to  the  rules  of  her  caste  ; 
but  she  was  not  strong,  an  uncontrollable  craving  for  the 
food  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed  took  possession 
of  her,  and  she  appealed  to  her  young  husband  to  let  her 
have  it.  He  was  surprised,  and  as  she  insisted,  angry. 
The  mother-in-law  made  mischief.  The  girl  was  punished. 
Her  spirit  was  broken.  One  day  she  was  left  alone  in 
a  room.  When  her  people  returned,  she  was  found 
hanging  from  a  rope  tied  to  a  beam.  They  cut  her 
down,  but  the  pretty  little  head  fell  Hmp.  Then  they 
noticed  her  jewels  were  gone,  and  they  searched  and  found 
them  all  in  a  packet  marked  for  her  husband.  It  was  a 
sort  of  mute  protestation  that  she  had  meant  to  be  good. 

When  the  story  reached  the  Village  of  the  Temple, 
the  immediate  result  was  that  every  girl  who  was  learn- 
ing with  us  was  told  to  return  her  books.  Beautiful 
had  wanted  to  learn,  and  Beautiful  had  disgraced  her 
caste.  The  inconsequence  of  the  argument  did  not  seem 
to  strike  anybody.  The  girl  who  had  seemed  so  warm, 
ceoled ;  the  young  wife  ceased  to  read  to  her  husband. 
Several  girls  who  appeared  to  be  drawing  towards  a 
vital  interest  in  the  things  of  Christ  were  hurriedly 
married  and  despatched  to  distant  villages.  The  fear 
and  the  hurry  would  have  been  ludicrous  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  tragedy — that  one  young  hfe  so  suddenly 


"Let  Thine  own  Rain  fall"  189 

ended ;  these  many  young  lives  pushed  back  into 
death. 

The  workers  who  had  so  patiently  toiled  through  the 
heat,  and  the  rain,  and  the  burning  heat  again,  for  over  a 
year,  could  not  believe  at  first  that  the  people  would 
hold  to  their  decision,  and  they  continued  going  till 
convinced  that  it  was  useless.  Not  a  house  would  open 
to  them.  They  knew  this  phase  would  pass  ;  leave  the 
village  for  a  year,  and  the  people  would  forget ;  they 
would  get  in  again.  But  in  the  meantime  the  natural 
sequence,  the  watering  after  the  planting,  would  be 
wholly  interrupted.  It  would  be  impossible  to  follow 
the  various  girls  who  would  be  married  and  sent  to 
other  places  before  the  village  would  open  again.  The 
increase  that  follows  true  planting  and  watering  seemed 
projected  into  a  far-away  future.  "  0  Lord  of  the 
Harvest !  we  count  upon  Thee  to  water  Thine  own  seeds 
Thyself,"  they  prayed  :  "  we  wanted  to  be  Thy  watering- 
pot,  but  we  may  not  be  even  that.  Let  Thine  own  rain 
fall  on  Thy  seeds." 

x\nd  yet,  though  they  prayed  so,  they  could  not  help 
sorrowing.  Those  who  have  learned  to  love  their  own 
generation  cannot  rest  while  that  generation  passes 
unblessed.  People  tell  us  to  be  patient,  and  read  us 
homilies  on  patience.  We  do  indeed  need  the  patience  of 
God.  "  We  will  remember  the  years  of  the  right  hand 
of  the  Most  High."  But  platitudes,  however  kindly 
offered,  are  as  sawdust  to  hearts  thirsty  to  see  souls 
saved,  not  afterwards,  but  now.  We  could  say  all  the 
nice-sounding  things  ourselves  ;  they  do  not  comfort  us. 
We  go  to  our  Lord  for  sympathy.      We  find  He  under- 


190     "Hold  me  on  with  a  steady  Pace" 

stands.  "  When  He  was  come  near,  He  beheld  the  city, 
and  wept  over  it,  saying,  H  thou  hadst  known,  even 
thou,  at  least  in  this  thy  day,  the  things  which  belong 
unto  thy  pekoe  !  "  Thou,  even  thou  :  thou,  and  not 
another. 

"  0  my  God, 
Thus  let  me  weep  at  times  and  sigh  to  Thee, 
Holding  Thy  feet ;  not  desolate  myself ; 
But  for  the  desolate  in  every  land  : 
Tlius  let  me  pray,  embracing  Thy  dear  cross, 
For  every  banished  soul — Th}'^  banished  ones 
And  mine." 

Of  the  three  workers,  the  one  who  had  been  the  most 
in  earnest  about  the  Village  of  the  Temple  was  now  the 
most  utterly  broken-hearted.  She  came  home  crying 
bitterly  the  evening  they  heard  about  Beautiful's  death, 
and  she  threw  herself  down  beside  me  and  buried  her 
face  in  my  lap.  "  0  Amma,  Amma !  I  never  knew 
how  it  could  hurt !  "  She  was  hurt  all  over,  soul  and 
body,  and  for  a  time  lost  that  elasticity  of  spirit  which 
helps  us  through  our  hurts.  Then  we  feared  for  her 
lest  she  should  lose  tone.  A  change  in  the  kind  of 
work  arranged  for  her  saved  her  from  that,  and  the 
healing  touch  of  the  Man  of  Sorrows,  who  understood 
her,  put  all  right  again.  But  as  we  lived  through  it  with 
her  we  realised  that  if  these  young  converts  are  to  become 
soldiers  strong  to  endure,  someone  must  hold  on  for  them 
long  after  baptism  is  passed  :  God  hold  us  on  with  a 
steady  pace. 


CHAPTEK   XXV 
Darkened  Windows 

WE  have  just  returned  from  visiting  Beautiful's 
mother.  That  house,  with  the  usual  illogical 
logic  of  the  Old-world  Indian  village,  is  open 
to  us  though  the  others  are  all  shut.  Mother  and 
daughters  received  us  affectionately,  let  us  share  their 
grief  with  them,  let  us  sit  with  our  hands  in  theirs,  and 
mourn  with  them.  The  daughters,  Beautiful's  sisters, 
had  stopped  weeping  a  fortnight  ago.  The  mother's 
heart  weeps  longest.  She  wept  on  as  if,  in  the  language 
of  the  East,  her  eyes  were  fountains  of  tears,  and  always 
she  ended  with  a  sob  that  cut  one's  very  heart,  "  Oh,  my 
blossoming  bud  !  my  lotus  flower  !  If  only  your  head 
could  have  lain  in  my  lap,  and  I  could  have  tended  you 
myself,  I  could  have  borne  to  let  you  go.  But  it  was 
not  so,  it  was  not  so." 

"  It  is  no  use  to  try  to  comfort  her,"  said  the  daughters, 
when  we  tried,  "  see,  her  heart  is  closed  against  comfort. 
The  dropping  of  words  is  as  moonlight  on  stone.  There 
is  no  more  comfort  ever  for  her.  There  is  none  in  our 
religion."  And  when  we  tried  to  open  the  comfort  of 
ours  to  them,  they  said,  ''  All  we  have  left  to  us  now  is 
our  own  religion."     Words  did  indeed  seem  useless,  and 


192  Darkened  Windows 

the  sight  of  that  sorrow  that  would  not  be  comforted 
left  us  too  sorrow^ful  for  words. 

Evening  was  darkening  the  plain  as  we  crossed  it  for 
home.  We  w^erc  all  feeling  heavy-hearted  because  of  the 
perplexing  way  in  which  might  had  conquered  right  in  a 
recent  case  in  Palamcottah.  A  Hindu  girl  who  had  been 
taught  in  her  own  house,  had  waited  patiently  till  she 
believed  herself  of  age  to  become  a  Christian.  Then  she 
had  come  to  the  mission-house  for  protection,  and  had  been 
received  by  our  comrades  there.  The  parents  did  their 
best,  but  could  not  persuade  her  to  return  home.  Then 
they  brought  a  charge  against  the  missionaries,  which 
was  tried  by  the  District  magistrate,  and  thrown  out  as 
false.  The  girl's  faith  and  courage,  through  all  the 
painful  ordeal  of  giving  evidence  in  court,  bore  witness 
to  her  sincerity.  Then  the  relatives  filed  a  Civil  suit. 
While  the  trial  was  proceeding,  a  crowd  collected  about 
the  Court-house.  When  the  missionaries  and  the 
girl  came  out,  they  w^ere  overpowered,  and  she  was 
carried  ofi  by  force.  For  three  days  it  was  known 
that  she  held  out.  On  the  fourth  day  she  gave  in. 
On  the  evening  of  that  day,  she  was  produced  before 
the  magistrate.  She  was  wilhng  then  to  go  back 
with  the  man  to  whom  in  the  interval  she  had  been 
married.  This  in  barest  outUne  is  the  story  which  to 
live  through  has  meant  much.  "  Is  Satan  too  strong  ?  " 
the  girls  asked  wistfully.  "  She  bore  so  much  before 
she  gave  in.  Does  he  conquer  everywhere  ?  Why 
does  God  allow  such  things  to  happen  ?  "  Everything 
in  us  asks  why  ? 

**  The  secret  things  belong  unto  the  Lord.'* 


The  Secrets  of  God  193 

Then  a  deeper  silence  fell  upon  us.  Beautiful's  face, 
and  lier  mother's  grief,  and  the  face  of  that  con- 
vert girl,  and  our  dear  comrades'  grief  —  these  differing 
things  all  mingled  together  to  trouble  us.  The  secrets 
of  God  seemed  to  press  all  about  us.  All  round  us 
stretched  the  plain,  reaching  away  into  dimness  like  the 
dimness  of  an  unknown  land  dark  with  those  secrets. 
For  question  leads  off  into  question  ;  there  is  no  end 
to  it ;  and  "  Oft  oppressive  unto  pain  becomes  the  riddle 
of  the  earth."  And  the  ways  of  God  and  the  ways  of 
the  devil  seem  to  become  confused,  till  everjrthing  is  a 
bewilderment,  and  all  life  just  a  labyrinth  with  the  clue 
lost  long  ago.  There  is  tortu.re  in  the  too  persistent 
"  Why  ?  "  There  is  torment  in  the  questions  that 
spring  upon  us  from  the  blackness  of  second  causes  : 
"  the  dark  enigma  of  permitted  wrong "  is  terribly 
intense.  And  it  faces  us  sometimes  so  nearly,  and  it 
lashes  us  with  the  sharpness  of  thoughts  that  are  like 
whips. 

**  What  I  do  thou  knowest  not  now  ;  but  thou 
shalt  know  hereafter." 

A  text  taken  out  of  its  context,  but  a  text  that  finds 
place  in  the  greater  context  of  life,  it  spoke  to  us  then 
with  a  voice  that  was  not  void  of  power.  We  remembered 
how  little  we  knew ;  we  are  like  horses  in  training, 
running  in  circumscribed  circles,  thinking  short-reaching 
thoughts.  Beyond  our  utmost  reach  sweeps  God's  great 
thought-horizon.  Sometime,  somewhere,  we  shall  under- 
stand, and  even  if  we  never  might,  it  could  make  no  real 
difference  ;  we  know  enough  of  our  God  to  know  all 
must  be  well. 
13 


194  Darkened  Windows 

"  I  would  rest 
My  head  upon  Thine,  while  Thy  healing  hands 
Close  covered  both  my  eyes  beside  Thy  breast, 

Pressing  the  brain,  which  too  much  thought  expands, 
Back  to  its  proper  size  again,  and  smoothing 
Distortion  down  till  every  nerve  had  soothing, 
And  all  lay  quiet,  happy,  and  suppressed." 

Not  to  our  guardian  angel,  but  to  the  Lord  of  all  the 
angels  we  said  it,  each  in  our  own  way.  "  0  troubled 
and  bearer  of  burdens,  He  answered,"  so  the  Tamil  reads, 
"  come  to  Me  ;  I  will  cool  your  weariness."  Not,  I  will 
answer  your  questions,  but — "  I  will  give  you  rest." 

The  more  we  experience  the  heart-rest  Jesus  gives, 
the  more  we  come  to  know  Him  as  a  personal  near 
Friend,  the  more  it  grieves  us  to  see  so  many  people 
going  on  without  Him.  For  the  moment  leave  aside  the 
sin  of  heathendom.  Think  only  of  its  sorrow.  Think  of 
these  lovable  people,  who  are  so  kind  and  human,  so  like 
ourselves  in  capacity  to  suffer,  going  on,  ever  on,  without 
the  one  thing  which  is  everything  to  us.  If  Hinduism  has 
a  word  of  comfort  for  the  mourner,  that  word  has  not 
reached  the  villages  where  most  of  its  millions  live.  We 
are  welcome  now  in  all  the  towns  and  villages  surround- 
ing us,  except  in  the  few  where  something  has  for  the 
moment  alarmed  the  people,  as  in  Beautiful' s  village. 
They  seem  to  love  us  ;  we  are  often  sorry  because  they 
care  for  us  so  much,  and  not  at  all  for  our  Master.  We 
want  to  be  transparent  windows  through  which  they 
will  see  Jesus.  When  they  stop  and  look  at  us  we  feel 
we  are  somehow  clouding  the  glass.  This  intimacy  with 
the  people  of  almost  all  castes  often  brings  us  into  close 
touch  with  them  in  their  sorrows  ;    and  we  have  been 


Indian  Patience  195 

allowed  to  spend  hours  in  the  secluded  women's  quarters, 
listening  to  their  life  stories,  sharing  in  their  troubles. 
This  has  given  us  a  rare  opportunity  to  discover  the  best 
and  the  worst  there  is  to  know.  The  best,  perhaps,  is 
the  marvellous  patience  of  the  people  in  their  pain.  You 
never  hear  murmuring.  It  is  fate  :  resignation  is  virtuous, 
is  the  general  impression.  The  worst,  where  sorrow  is 
in  question,  is  the  heartless  indifference  sometimes  en- 
gendered by  this  cold  creed,  and  the  utter  absence  of 
true  comfort  at  all  times. 

South  Indian  life,  as  seen  from  outside,  is  cheerful. 
By  comparison  Enghsh  hfe  is  sombre,  like  the  drab  of  its 
clothes  in  comparison  with  our  vivid  reds,  or  the  grey 
of  its  atmosphere  in  contrast  to  our  clear  blue.  But 
truth  lies  in  and  under,  not  on  the  top  of  things.  Look 
in  and  under  in  India  and  you  see  this  : 

"  Can  you  give  me  back  my  sight  ?  "  She  was  a 
middle-aged  woman,  grown  old  too  soon.  She  was 
poor,  but  her  caste  was  exclusive,  and  she  sat  gathered 
up  in  a  tight  bunch  lest  my  dress  should  touch  her's 
as  I  sat  on  the  narrow  verandah  beside  her.  She 
had  crept  out  of  the  dark  room,  behind,  a  few  minutes 
earlier,  drawn  by  the  hope  of  help.  Only  a  poor  middle- 
aged  woman,  with  nothing  romantic  or  pathetic  about 
her,  quietly  waiting  for  the  call  that  would  tell  her  we 
had  come.  I  looked  at  her  a  minute  before  I  sat  down 
beside  her,  and  I  knew  I  was  looking  at  one  who  had 
sorrowed  uncomforted. 

She  told  me  all  about  it  in  a  voice  that  was  all  mono- 
tone. "  I  gave  my  husband  to  death.  He  died.  I  gave 
my  ten  children  to  death,  and  they  died.     One  by  one  I 


196  Darkened  Windows 

saw  them  die.  These  eyes  saw  them  fade  and  die. 
They  did  not  die  as  little  ones.  No  ;  I  nourished  them 
and  cherished  them,  and  each  had  grown  up  tall  and 
strong,  when,  one  by  one,  they  went  from  me,  and  my 
arms  had  to  let  them  go.  And  then  I  sat  in  my  house 
and  wept.  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  weep.  So  my 
eyes  have  lost  their  power  to  see,  and  alone,  alone,  I  am 
growing  blind.     Can  you  give  me  back  my  sight  ?  " 

One  could  see  that  she  dreaded  blindness  with  a  dread 
unspeakable,  and  the  lonehness  was  overwhelming  her. 
There  was  fear  in  her  face,  and  such  entreaty,  and  yet 
she  spoke  so  patiently,  even  the  passion  of  appeal  had  no 
impatience  in  it.  She  had  two  terrible  swollen  sores, 
each  bad  enough  to  make  her  ill ;  but  when  I  noticed 
them,  she  said,  "Oh,  never  mind  !  They  are  nothing  to 
me.  What  is  pain  and  what  are  sores  to  one  who  is 
growing  blind  ?  " 

The  neighbours  had  gathered  in  little  groups  and 
listened  while  we  talked  ;  now  they  began  to  talk  together 
to  me.  "  She  has  sat  for  years  alone  in  the  dark  !  "  "  She 
only  tastes  food  once  a  day  !  "  "  She  never  eats  proper 
curry  and  rice  !  "  "  She  never,  no  never  ceases  from 
tears  !  "  "  Never  a  day  but  she  weeps  many  tears,  and 
the  tears  have  dissolved  her  eyes  !  " 

As  they  spoke,  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks.  She 
wiped  them  away  with  her  old  torn  cloth,  and  looked  out 
across  the  sunny  street  where  the  children  of  others 
played,  and  she  strained  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  them, 
as  if  she  almost  hoped  to  see  her  own  ten  playing  there. 
And  then  she  looked  up  and  clasped  her  hands,  and  held 
them  high  above  her  head.     "  Alone  among  the  people  I 


A  Sky  without  a  Moon  197 

sit  and  weep,  and  things  are  growing  dim  to  me,  and  I 
am  growing  blind  !  "  Then,  breaking  off,  she  held  up 
her  hands  as  if  in  eager  but  mute  appeal  to  the  distant, 
deaf,  and  pitiless  power  she  thought  of  as  her  god. 

To  be  blind  and  to  be  lonely — without  Jesus  !  It  was 
more  than  one  could  bear  to  think  of  for  anybody.  That 
so  very  many  are  bhnd  and  lonely — without  Jesus — does 
not  make  it  the  less  sorrowful  for  one  of  the  many,  and 
what  we  may  not  realise  as  we  think  of  the  many, 
becomes  real  indeed  as  we  look  at  the  one.  I  looked 
at  this  woman  now — the  thin  form,  thin  with  fasting, 
and  the  sores,  fruit  of  that  fasting,  and  the  eyes,  worn 
out  with  weeping — those  years  had  left  their  mark.  And 
I  leaned  my  head  against  the  pillar  and  turned  my  face 
away,  and  tried  not  to  let  them  see  how  much  I  cared. 

But  they  saw,  and  their  exclamations  told  her  ;  and 
with  such  a  loving  gesture,  as  if  she  would  have  thrown 
her  arms  round  me,  only  her  caste  rules  withheld  her,  she 
besought  me  not  to  trouble,  not  to  have  a  thought  about 
her.  "  For,  indeed,  I  am  not  worth  it.  I  am  suffering 
for  my  sin."  (She  meant  the  sin  of  some  previous  birth.) 
"  Joy  and  grief  are  a  whirling  wheel.  Who  can  stay 
what  has  to  be  ?  The  fate  written  in  one's  head  is 
hidden  by  one's  hair,  but  it  is  written,  who  can  reverse 
it  ?  As  a  sky  without  a  moon  am  I,  a  sore  without  a 
salve.  It  is  my  fate.  It  is  my  fate."  Then  she  stopped 
and  looked  tenderly  towards  me,  and  said,  "  Oh,  Amma  ! 
trouble  not  for  me.  Have  I  not  myself  shed  tears 
enough  ?     Let  none  be  shed  for  me  !  " 

I  suppose  it  is  well  for  us  that  we  do  not,  as  we  put 
it,    "  feel    everything."     The    feehng    faculty    within    us 


198  Darkened  Windows 

seems  to  be  usually  overspread  with  a  sort  of  merciful 
dulness,  but  sometimes  it  is  as  if  it  were  skinned,  and 
we  do  feel.  I  think  if  you  had  been  there  that  day  you 
would  have  felt  this — to  see  her  so  suffering,  to  hear  her 
trying  to  comfort  you. 

I  tried  to  arrange  for  her  to  come  in  and  have  her 
eyes  attended  to,  but  caste  interfered.  And  even  if 
she  could  have  come  it  is  doubtful  if  much  could  have 
been  done.  Her  eyes  looked,  as  the  women  said,  as  if 
they  had  been  "  dissolved." 

She  listened  wistfully  as  I  told  her  about  Jesus,  but  I 
think  her  mind  had  no  room  for  any  thoughts  save  those 
which  had  filled  it  for  so  long. 

And  so  an  hour  passed,  and  she  was  weak  with  long 
fasting  and  sitting  in  darkness,  and  the  pain  she  counted 
as  nothing  overcame  her,  and  she  crept  back  into  the 
little  windowless  room  which  opened  off  the  verandah, 
and  lay  down  on  a  mat  spread  in  the  corner,  and  we  left 
her  there  alone. 

A  few  weeks  later  we  went  again.  She  was  some- 
where toiling  and  worshipping  ;  for  a  sudden  desperate- 
ness  had  seized  her,  and  the  calmness  had  passed,  the 
people  said.  We  waited  till  late,  and  she  returned 
spent  and  weary,  but  loving  still.  "  Dear  Amma,"  she 
said,  as  we  told  her  again  of  the  only  comfort,  "  I  have 
but  one  thing  left  to  me  ;  I  have  been  bereft  of  all  but  it. 
Would  you  ask  me  to  do  that  which  you  know  would 
spoil  the  one  thing  left  to  me  ?  You  forget  I  have  still 
my  caste  :  I  have  kept  it  all  these  years.  Would  you 
have  me  believe  your  Jesus  Lord,  and  lose  the  one 
thing  left  to  me  ?     And  then  reproachfully  she  turned 


Not  Comforted  199 

those  almost  sightless  eyes  on  me,  and  went  into  her 
house. 

0  thou  afflicted,  tossed  with  tempest,  and  not  com- 
forted, have  we  come  too  late  ?  Are  life's  fair  colours 
for  ever  covered  over,  its  windows  of  agate  darkened 
for  ever  ?  Oh  for  the  Voice  to  sound  through  the 
silence,  for  the  Face  to  shine  through  the  dimness,  for 
the  comforting  touch  of  Christ ! 

And  the  question  that  came  to  me  as  we  left  her,  was 
the  question  that  never  comes  less  urgently  although  it 
comes  so  often.  The  answer  to  that  question  lies  between 
each  one  of  us  and  God. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 
Graves  which  appear  not 

TO  such  mourners  life  is  a  great  waste  place,  and  the 
Lord  who  comforts  all  our  waste  places  is  a  God 
unknown.     There  is  a  call  in  this.     There  is  some- 
thing stronger  than  a  call  in  what  underlies  it  everywhere. 
The  subsoil  of  most  non-Christian  lands  is  largely  made 
of  graves. 

It  is  possible  to  lose  all  sense  of  truth,  that  stern 
uncompromising  thing,  in  a  kind  of  worshipping  rhapsody 
over  that  which  appeals  to  sentiment,  and  to  love  of  the 
mysterious.  Such  rhapsodies  are  in  fashion  now.  We 
are  almost  ashamed  of  the  crude  thoughts  of  years  ago  ; 
like  the  crude  woodcuts  in  our  childhood's  Missionary 
books,  those  thoughts  were  rather  caricatures  than 
seriously  truthful.  Or  we  etherealise  where  we  cannot 
deny.  Our  pictures  showed  us  Jagannath  cars  and  flam- 
ing piles,  and  babes  flung  into  crocodiles'  jaws.  Granted 
there  were  such  tragedies,  the  modern  voice  says  softly,  it 
was  only  love  at  its  noblest,  offering  its  all  to  its  Love  ; 
and  the  glorious  ecstasy  carried  the  soul  through  pain.  So 
we  sit  at  the  feet  of  the  old  gods  created  to  satisfy  at  once 
both  extremes  in  the  nature  of  man.  We  forget  the  source 
of  the  highest  in  the  ancient  books.     We  explain  away 


Under  the  Jasmine  Tower  201 

the  lowest.  We  wrap  the  result  of  our  fine  thoughts' 
work  in  a  shining  web  of  words.  And  we  show  this  web 
of  bewilderment.  And  we  say,  Look ;  this  is  Indian 
thought.  This  is  India  seen  at  last,  understood  by  us  at 
last.  All  who  ever  went  before  were  too  dull  to  under- 
stand. They  had  no  sympathy,  no  intuition.  We  are 
the  people  who  know. 

And  straight  through  it  all,  as  if  a  hand  had  torn  at 
the  dew-bespangled  web  and  shown  the  dead  fly  inside, 
come  voices  from  India's  own  people,  who  have  escaped 

from  the  snare  : 

"  Dost  thou  blame 
A  soul  that  strives  but  to  see  plain,  speak  true. 
Truth  at  all  hazards  ?     Oh,  this  false  for  real, 
This  emptiness  which  feigns  soUdity — 
Ever  some  grey  that's  white,  and  dun  that's  black — 
When  shall  we  rest  upon  the  thing  itself, 
Not  on  its  semblance  ?     Soul — too  weak  forsooth 
To  cope  with  fact — wants  fiction  everywhere  ! 
Mine  tires  of  falsehood :  truth  at  any  cost." 

The  Pandita  Ramabai  Dongre  Medhavi  is  at  Agra. 
She  has  seen,  as  all  visitors  see,  those  dreams  of  delight, 
the  poems  in  marble  there.  She  asks  to  be  shown  the 
dungeons  underneath  one  of  the  Pleasure  towers.  The 
guide  denies  the  existence  of  such  places.  A  fee  refreshes 
his  memory.  He  opens  a  trap-door  on  one  side  of  the 
palace,  lets  her  in,  shows  her  the  many  underground 
rooms  where  the  queens  who  had  incurred  the  king's 
displeasure  were  confined,  tortured,  starved.  And  he 
lights  a  torch  and  takes  her  to  the  further  end  of  the 
prison.  They  are  under  the  Jasmine  tower.  The  room 
is  dark,  octagonal ;  in  the  centre  is  a  pit,  over  the  pit  is  a 
beam   elaborately    carved.     Does  the   irony   of  it  strike 


202  Graves  which  appear  not 

you  ?  Our  gallows  are  not  carved.  From  that  beam  the 
queens  were  hung.  Into  that  pit  their  bodies  fell.  Then 
a  stream  of  water  caught  them,  carried  them  out  to  the 
Jumna.     The  crocodiles  did  the  rest. 

There  are  many  voices  talking  in  the  Jasmine  tower. 
A  single  voice  is  speaking  from  the  dungeon  underneath  : 

"  /  heg  of  my  Western  sisters  not  to  he  satisfied  with 
looking  on  the  outside  beauty  of  the  grand  philosophies,  and 
not  to  be  charmed  with  hearing  the  long  and  interesting 
discourses  of  our  educated  men,  but  to  open  the  trap-doors 
of  the  great  monument  of  ancient  Hindu  intellect,  and 
enter  into  the  dark  cellars  where  they  will  see  the  real 
workiyig  of  the  philosophies  which  they  admire  so  much.''^ 

"  The  real  working  of  the  philosophies  which  they 
admire  so  much."  These  words,  set  in  the  thought  of 
that  underground  room,  and  beam,  and  pit,  came  to  me 
with  forcefulness,  when  one  day  I  trod  on  a  grave  which 
appeared  not. 

South  India,  as  compared  with  North,  is  manifestly 
rehgious.  The  huge  temples  attest  the  fact.  Benares 
is  Hindu  India's  heart,  but  Benares'  chief  temple  "  is  to 
the  great  temples  of  Tanjore,  Madura,  and  Tinnevelly, 
what  a  small  village  church  is  to  St.  Paul's  Cathedral." 
Everywhere  here  we  have  Hinduism  at  its  grandest, 
stateliest,  and  most  imposing.  Its  holy  places  are  most 
holy.  No  alien  may,  as  in  the  North,  approach  the 
sacred  S5raibol ;  great  stone  galleries  and  corridors,  quad- 
rangular courts  and  pillared  halls  guard  the  approaches 
to  the  room,  where,  as  the  Hindu  believes,  the  deity  is 
enshrined.  Here,  then,  if  anywhere,  we  should  see  the 
philosophy  behind    all    this,  wrought   out  in    something 


How   DOES    IT   WORK?  203 

worthy  such  expression.  Here,  uninfluenced  by  Islam, 
uninjured  by  change  of  dynasty,  we  have  Hinduism, 
Hindu  thought,  free  to  work  as  it  will.  How  does  it 
work  ? 

We  had  pitched  our  tents  in  a  mango  grove  close  to 
one  of  the  southern  towns,  and  were  spending  our  days 
with  the  people.  We  had  come  to  the  last  day,  and 
were  visiting  in  a  quiet  street,  when  we  noticed  an  old 
lady  of  distinction  who  listened  as  one  who  understood. 
She  was  beautiful  to  look  upon.  A  beautiful  old  face 
is  seldom  seen  in  South  India  ;  perhaps  the  hot  years 
tire  the  beauty  out.  The  old  lady  fascinated  me.  She 
sat  quietly  listening,  one  fine  hand  fingering  her  rosarj^, 
brown  berries  set  in  chased  gold,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  me. 
I  found  myself  speaking  only  for  her,  and  when  I  had 
finished  I  asked  her  if  we  might  go  home  with  her. 
She  hesitated.  The  women  laughed.  But  eventually 
she  led  the  way  through  blazing  sunshine  into  a  large 
courtyard,  and  through  it  into  the  dim  half  light  of  an 
old-fashioned  Indian  house.  "  Ah !  what  sun !  It 
scorches  one's  very  marrow,"  she  said,  and  sighed  with 
relief  as  we  reached  the  cool. 

Her  house  seemed  to  fit  the  old  lady,  who  stood  on 
the  threshold  for  a  moment,  her  white  widow's  dress 
showing  against  the  soft  shadowiness  within.  The 
floor  was  of  brown  tiles ;  the  walls  were  of  dull 
red.  The  doors  and  lintels  and  all  the  pillars  were 
wonderfully  carved.  Polished  brass  vessels  stood  in 
rows  in  one  of  the  passages.  There  was  none  of  the 
untidy  litter  of  an  ordinary  house  and  courtyard.  All 
was  orderlv. 


204  Graves  which  appear  not 

In  the  outer  verandah  a  young  man  wrapped  in  a 
seagreen  scarf  was  chanting  poetry.  Another,  swinging 
on  a  board  hung  by  chains  from  the  roof,  was  Hstening 
intently.  Each  wore  the  Vishnu  mark.  There  were  no 
children  to  be  seen,  and  again  the  unusual  orderliness 
of  the  place  struck  me  as  we  followed  the  old  lady  into 
the  women's  apartment,  the  home  of  the  house.  There 
a  servant  appeared  with  a  trayful  of  betel,  the  usual 
offer  of  courtesy.  Plantains  and  limes  were  given  to 
us.  Then  two  young  girls  came  forward  and  put  garlands 
round  our  necks.  We  wondered  how  they  happened  to 
have  all  these  things  ready. 

My  fellow-worker  of  that  afternoon  had  been  recently 
converted.  As  nominal  Christians,  she  and  her  husband 
had  lived  for  years  among  the  Hindus  without  ever 
visiting  them  like  this.  The  old  lady  knew  her,  and 
not  understanding  why  she  came  now,  listened  with  a 
curious  keenness,  as  if  she  were  suspending  judgment 
till  the  cause  was  laid  out  before  her.  After  she  had 
heard  about  her  visitor's  new  found  joy,  she  asked  us  to 
sing.     We  began  at  once  with, 

"  What  can  wash  away  my  sin  ? 
Nothing  but  the  blood  of  Jesus." 

As  we  broke  off  to  explain  the  verses,  Tamil  fashion, 
the  girls'  interest  quickened,  and  they  asked  questions 
which  so  engrossed  us  that  we  did  not  notice  the 
change  in  the  old  face  beside  us,  till  suddenly  I  saw 
it.  That  face  was  like  our  mountain  side,  with  the 
storm-cloud  rolling  down.  "  Stop  !  stop  !  "  and  the  voice 
was  like  the  rising  of  the  wind  as  we  have  it  on  the 


''When  He  is  come"  205 

plain,  rushing  and  deepening.  "  Stop  !  Who  told  you 
to  sing  that  here  ?  I  know  it  well !  I  know  it  well ! 
And  your  doctrine  is  thoroughly  known  to  me,  and  I 
will  have  none  of  it  here  !  Listen  !  Listen  !  Listen,  I 
say,  I  will  preach  your  doctrine  !  "  And  she  poured 
forth  a  rapid  summary  of  the  parable  of  the  prodigal 
son.  "  There,  is  not  that  your  doctrine  ?  Do  not  I  well 
know  whither  it  leads  ?     And  I  will  have  none  of  it  here  !  " 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  hymn  the  chanting  had 
ceased  in  the  outer  verandah ;  now  a  laugh  broke  in 
upon  us,  and  the  girls  slipped  away,  as  the  two  men 
sauntered  into  the  room  and  stood  surveying  us.  The 
old  lady  turned  to  them  hurriedly.  I  can  see  that  poor 
face  now — wrath,  fear,  entreaty,  defiance,  such  a  mingling 
of  emotions  found  expression  there. 

"  Yes,  I  brought  her,"  she  was  saying  ;  "  woe  is  me 
that  I  did  it.  She  shall  go  !  But  how  could  I  know 
she  would  sing  that  song  ?  Ah  !  be  not  angry  with  me. 
I  want  not  her  doctrine.  I  have  said  it :  she  shall  go. 
See,  she  is  going  even  now  !  " 

The  men  did  not  answer.  They  talked  to  each  other 
in  undertones.  We  were  puzzled.  Why  this  outburst  ? 
We  were  ready  to  go,  but  the  old  lady  took  no  notice 
of  us.     Lulled  for  the  moment,  she  sang  to  herself  : 

"  What  can  wash  away  my  sm  ? 
Nothing  but  the  blood  of  Jesus." 

We  kept  quiet.  We  were  in  the  presence  of  some- 
thing we  did  not  understand.  But  God  understood. 
His  Spirit  was  there.  Our  whole  thought  then  was  to 
efface  ourselves. 


206  Graves  which  appear  not 

At  last  she  looked  at  me,  and  answered  as  if  I  had 
spoken  to  her.  It  was  as  if  a  power  compelled  the 
truth  to  come  and  show  itself. 

"  My  hfe  is  all  one  sin,"  she  said,  "  one  long  black 
sin.  The  thing  I  think,  and  speak,  and  do  is  sin.  I 
know  it.  Oh,  I  know  it.  But,"  and  the  voice  hardened, 
*'  what  is  that  to  you  ?  If  it  is  against  your  rehgion 
it  is  not  against  mine.  My  doctrine  provides  for  the 
thing  I  do.  It  is  holy,  yea,  holy."  Then  again  the 
voice  changed,  fell  to  a  whisper.  "  But  it  is  sin  :  it  is 
sin  ;  all  sin."  When  He  is  come  He  will  convince  of 
sin.  He  had  come.  She  was  convinced.  No  need  of 
words  of  ours. 

She  stopped.  The  men  listened  amazed.  They  saw 
the  tempest- tossed  beautiful  face.  They  looked  at  each 
other  and  at  us,  but,  respecting  the  gesture  that  asked 
for  silence,  neither  of  them  spoke. 

The  face  was  hidden  now.  "  And  darkness  was  upon 
the  face  of  the  deep.  And  the  Spirit  of  God  moved 
upon  the  face  of  the  waters," 

But  the  men  grew  impatient.  She  rose  as  if  to  go, 
then  praying  that  we  might  speak  in  line  with  the  awful, 
gentle  Voice  she  had  been  listening  to,  I  pleaded  with 
her,  and  she  softened  for  a  moment.  But  not  so  easily 
are  souls  won.  "  Aiyo !  Aiyo !  I  have  heard  enough. 
Too  much  have  I  heard  for  my  peace  of  mind.  Go  !  go  ! 
What  I  do  is  not  sin  in  our  Hindu  rehgion.  I  am  kind 
to  the  girls  ;   I  call  them  my  daughters.     Go  !  " 

And  as  we  went  we  heard  the  men  laugh,  and  the 
hymn  that  had  stirred  her  so  strongly  rang  out  in  bitter 
raillery  : 


"The  Snake  nests  in  the  Altar-Stone"     207 

"  What  can  wash  away  my  sin  ? 
Nothing  but  the  blood  of  Jesus." 

It  was  all  most  startling  ;  she  seemed  to  know  so 
much.  Had  "  heaven's  light  but  revealed  a  track  where- 
by to  crawl  away  from  heaven  "  ?  "  My  doctrine  pro- 
vides for  the  thing  I  do.  It  is  holy.  What  I  do  is  not 
sin  in  our  Hindu  rehgion.  I  am  kind  to  the  girls  ;  I  call 
them  my  daughters."  As  she  said  it,  we  knew  where  we 
were  :  in  a  house  on  the  way  to  heU,  going  down  to  the 
chambers  of  death.  But  what  she  said  was  true  ;  what 
she  was  doing  was  "  holy,  yea  holy,"  judged  by  the  very 
code  that  took  shape  in  the  temple  outside. 

Some  will  find  this  incredible,  unjustifiable,  narrow, 
ignorant,  intolerant ;  in  short,  just  like  a  missionary 
devoid  of  imagination.  There  are  those  now  who  couple 
(God  forgive  us  if  the  mere  mention  of  such  blasphemy  is 
irreverent)  the  name  of  the  Holy  Child  Jesus  with  one 
or  other  of  the  Hindu  incarnations — ^Vishnu's  incarna- 
tion as  Krishna,  for  example.  "  Krishna  the  Indian 
Christ,"  they  even  dare  to  write,  Httle  knowing  the 
inwardness  of  anything  so  lightly  touched.  All  students 
of  Indian  Hterature  acknowledge  that  the  true  and  the 
beautiful  are  found  in  it.  But  should  it  be  concealed  that 
in  the  name  of  Krishna  that  house  stands,  that  in  his 
name  stand  many  similar  houses,  and  streets  full  of 
houses,  that  in  his  name  the  city  of  his  reputed  birth  is 
to-day  a  polluted  city  ?  "  My  doctrine  provides  for  the 
thing  I  do.^^ 

"  She  misrepresented  her  doctrine,  dragged  its  thought 
in  the  dust  of  her  low  desire,  missed  its  meaning  com- 
pletely "  ;  so  some  would  tell  us.     Who  knows  best  ?    She 


208  Graves  which  appear  not 

lives  at  the  heart  of  Krishna's  things  as  no  foreigner 
ever  could.  She  holds  to  what  she  says  ;  her  doctrine 
cloaks  the  sin  of  her  life,  nay,  rather  crowns  it,  consecrates 
it.     It  is  not  sin. 

A  thought  reveals  itself  in  words.  There  are  certain 
evil  words  engraved  with  iron  style  on  the  palm-leaf  copies 
of  ancient  books.  Words  cut  into  the  texture  of  a  leaf 
when  it  is  young  cannot  be  erased  when  it  is  old  ;  you 
cannot  rub  out  a  cut ;  the  preservative  saffron  smeared 
over  the  leaf  darkens  into  the  lettering.  Now  comes 
the  philosopher,  considers  this  unpleasant  fact,  feels  its 
incompatibihty  with  his  thought  about  Indian  Thought. 
Such  thought  as  these  words  indicate  is  a  blot  on  the 
page  of  his  philosophy.  So  he  blows  upon  the  blot,  and 
lo,  it  vanishes  !  and  floating  out  as  from  a  cloud  of  new 
and  mystical  conceptions,  conveyed  in  most  subtle  and 
exquisite  language,  we  see  emerge  and  evolve  an  Idea  ; 
these  things,  to  put  it  boldly,  bad  things,  said  to  be 
practised  by  Krishna,  "  are  to  be  explained  allegorically, 
and  symbolise  the  longing  of  the  human  soul  for  union 
with  the  Supreme."  Could  anything  be  more  natural  ? 
Not  what  those  bad  words  seem  to  mean,  but  what 
we  say  they  are  to  mean,  is  their  meaning,  says  the 
philosopher. 

But  most  of  India's  people  are  not  philosophers,  only 
simple  people  like  ourselves.  To  them  words  mean  just 
what  they  say,  as  in  the  main  they  do  to  us.  And  in 
this  case  the  words  are  clear.  The  thought  behind  the 
words  is  clear.  As  our  god  did,  so  may  we  do  ;  and  as 
he  did  it,  let  us  now  deify  the  doing. 

This    is    the    real    working    of    the    philosophy    which 


"But  Inwardly  .  .  .   ."  2G9 

some  admire  so  much.  Indian  thought,  like  Indian 
character,  is  a  study  of  contrast.  The  word  "  home  " 
does  not  exist  in  our  Tamil  language,  but  perhaps  nowhere 
is  there  more  family  affection.  This  contrast,  or  possi- 
bihty  of  contrast,  meets  one  at  every  turn.  Things 
glorious  and  base,  dehcately  sensitive  and  inexpressibly 
coarse,  jostle  one  another,  or  he  alongside,  everywhere. 
Take  a  single  illustration  from  India's  literature.  Read 
parts  of  one  of  the  epics  ;  all  that  is  noble  and  very  lovely 
blossoms  as  the  lotus.  Read  other  parts  of  the  same 
poem — but  you  could  not, — and  it  would  be  as  if  you 
had  plunged  down  into  the  slime  at  the  lotus  root. 

Who  was  the  woman  ?  What  was  her  story  ?  Who 
were  the  girls  ?  How  had  she  got  them  ?  Oh,  the  un- 
answered questions  of  a  single  afternoon  ! 

Other  questions  come  to  be  answered  sometimes : 
"  What  a  pity  it  is  to  meddle  with  so  ancient  an  order 
of  things.  After  all,  is  there  much  difference  between 
heathendom  and  Christendom  ?  Regrettable  things  occur 
at  home,  as  of  course  you  know.  Probably  their  own 
religion  is  suited  to  the  people  of  India." 

It  is  true  that  the  order  of  things  is  ancient.  But  if 
the  ancient  is  invariably  best,  why  are  we  Christians 
to-day  ?  As  to  the  second  contention,  suppose  it  were 
possible  to  prove  England  on  a  level  with  India  (which 
it  is  not)  as  regards  practice,  there  would  still  be  this 
difference  in  ideal.  In  England,  when  sin  is  exposed, 
the  conscience  of  the  nation  speaks.  Here  it  is  drugged, 
mute.  If  ever  a  voice  breaks  the  silence,  it  will  be 
found  to  come  from  a  quarter  where  some  Christian 
influence,  direct  or  reflex,  is  at  work.  In  England,  as  in 
14 


210  Graves  which  appear  not 

all  lands  even  nominally  Christian,  there  is  such  a  thing 
as  reticence  ;  the  very  daylight  shames  needless  allusion 
to  pitch.  Here,  nothing  is  too  unseemly  to  discuss  ;  life 
holds  no  sanctuary.  We  have  vultures  on  these  hills. 
You  see  a  shadow  on  the  grass,  faint,  midefined.  You 
look  up  and  see  the  form  of  a  great  bird,  black  in  the 
blue.  It  swoops  down  in  circles,  drops  heavily  beside  a 
dead  buffalo,  and  gorges.  But  though  it  is  so  big  and 
gross,  the  fall  of  its  shadow,  as  it  wheels,  is  light  as  a 
breath  on  the  grass.  When  one  tries  to  describe  the 
contrast  between  a  land  where  the  nation's  ideal  is 
Christ,  the  pure  and  holy,  and  a  land  to  whose  favourite 
divinity  that  pitch,  the  thought  of  which  defiles,  is  meat 
and  drink,  and  pleasure,  then  one  feels  that  words  coined 
in  the  mint  of  a  Christian  language  can  never  be  truly 
expressive.  The  blackest  words  are  too  pale  to  paint 
even  the  faint  undefined  shadow  of  that  strong  contrast's 
shape. 

Verily,  there  is  a  difference.  It  is  caused  by  the 
difference  in  the  Faith  that  informs  the  life.  No  other 
than  the  Faith  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  can  possibly  be 
suited  to  those  whose  chief  end,  even  as  ours,  is  nothing 
less  than  to  glorify  God  and  to  enjoy  Him  for  ever. 
How  can  we,  who  "  with  Angels  and  Archangels,  and  with 
all  the  company  of  heaven,  laud  and  magnify  His  glorious 
name,  evermore  praising  Him  and  saying.  Holy,  holy, 
holy,  Lord  God  of  hosts,  heaven  and  earth  are  full  of 
Thy  glory.  Glory  be  to  Thee,  0  Lord,  most  high  " — how 
can  we  be  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  half  the  world  is 
still  shut  out  from  its  share  in  that  majestic  song  ? 
Can  we  sing  on  and  not  care  ? 


If?  211 

"  Oh,  if  our  brother's  blood  cry  out  to  us, 
How  shall  we  meet  Thee  who  hast  loved  us  all, 
Thee  whom  we  never  loved,  not  loving  him  ?  " 

"  God's  in  His  heaven.  All's  right  with  the  world  "  ; 
two  friends  met  on  a  hill  top  and  said  it.  A  town  lies 
round  the  base  of  the  hill.  The  level  of  red-tiled  roofs 
is  pierced  by  the  spires  of  a  mosque  and  a  temple 
cupola.  If  those  roofs  had  been  made  of  glass  instead 
of  tiles,  if  mosque  and  temple  and  the  houses  close  about 
them  had  been  built  of  glass  all  through,  and  the  two 
friends  could  have  looked  down,  and  through,  and  in, 
would  they  have  said  so  ?  Yes,  and  no.  Yes — for  the 
Lord  reigneth  ;  no  facts  can  touch  that  fact.  No — for 
the  prince  of  this  world,  though  judged,  has  for  the  time 
being  power  ;  and  though  these  towns  are  so  sunshiny,  so 
full  of  the  careless  joyousness  of  a  people  dwelling  at  ease, 
there  are  graves  which  appear  not.  And  we  who  walk 
upon  them  are  sometimes  not  aware  of  them  till  we  have 
passed. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 
^^Dagon  must  Stoop*' 

GRAVES  and  gardens :  Weights  and  Overweights. 
Sometimes  we  pass  backwards  and  forwards  from 
grave  to  garden ;  then  the  scales  are  poised  just 
evenly.  Sometimes  the  grave  appears  to  encroach  upon 
the  garden  ;  then  life's  equihbrium  becomes  disturbed. 
Sometimes  what  we  thought  was  a  grave  blossoms  into 
a  garden  ;  then  there  is  an  Overweight  of  Joy. 

We  were  travelling  home  one  evening,  after  a  week's 
itineration,  when  we  saw  a  group  of  people  standing 
on  the  steep  slope  which  led  from  a  village  we  were 
passing  to  the  river  we  were  skirting.  The  men  stood 
in  silence.  The  women  wailed.  Then  they  stopped, 
uphfted  long  arms,  and  tossed  them  as  if  parting  from 
their  dead. 

You  cannot  live  for  unbroken  years  of  intercourse 
with  the  East  without  becoming  in  some  measure 
Easternised.  Your  ear  is  filled  with  the  sound  of  the 
East,  and  its  sights  are  in  your  eyes.  You  have 
breathed  of  its  atmosphere,  drunk  of  its  spirit ;  what 
appeals  to  it  appeals  to  you.  You  find  yourself  thinking 
its  thoughts  with  it,  instinctively,  unconsciously ;  and 
on  some  simple  lines  of  thought,  at  least,  the  grave  old 

212 


Grave  213 

East  thinks  like  a  child.  So  we  did  what  a  child  would 
have  done — stopped  the  bandy,  listened,  looked,  felt  the 
appeal  in  the  things  sung,  shared  the  hour's  life  with  the 
people  there. 

Presently  the  little  knot  of  white  and  brown 
straightened  out.  There  was  a  burst  of  wailing  from 
the  women.  It  ceased  as  the  men  streamed  down  the 
bank.  The  last  Hght  of  day  fell  full  on  them  and  the 
burden  that  they  bore.  It  was  a  grey-haired  woman. 
The  head  lay  on  a  mass  of  flowers  ;  flowers  crowned  it, 
drew  round  it,  fell  in  long  lines  of  colour  down  to  the 
feet.  But  the  dead  face  looked  awful  in  the  red  glow  ; 
as  it  passed  I  remembered  where  I  had  seen  it  last,  and 
saw,  as  if  lit  by  that  red  glow,  a  stone  verandah,  an 
old  woman  sitting  thereon,  repeating  Tamil  poetry,  a 
child  in  the  street  below,  jumping  up  and  down,  and 
laughing  as  she  quoted  poetry. 

This  dead  woman  was  that  child's  grandmother.  She 
had  trained  her  eldest  daughter,  as  her  mother  had 
trained  her,  for  the  service  of  the  gods.  She  had  trained 
and  given  her  grandchild  to  the  service  of  the  gods. 
Her  whole  long  hfe  from  its  very  start  had  been  bent 
towards  evil  of  the  darkest  sort.  She  had  left  that  little 
once -innocent  child  to  carry  on  her  work.  The  thought 
of  it  was  unbearable.  The  horror  of  contact  with  the 
unclean  was  upon  us.  We  tried  to  turn  full  from  it. 
"  Drive  on,"  we  said  to  the  bandy-man.  The  Hght  faded 
in  the  west,  the  clouds  rolled  up  and  blotted  out  the 
stars.  Then  from  the  river  bank  two  tongues  of  yeUow 
flame  forked  up  where  they  were  burning  her.  The 
bandy-man  drove  faster. 


214  "Dagon  must  Stoop" 

Before  the  ashes  of  that  woman  were  cold  on  the  bank, 
there  was  another  funeral  by  the  same  river-side. 

The  Village  of  the  Grove  is  built  of  mud  or  sand. 
Round  it  is  a  belt  of  jingle.  Its  people  are  yeomen, 
and  accustomed  to  grapple  with  adverse  circumstances, 
bare  sand,  scrub,  and  the  like.  Work  in  such  places 
has  an  interest  of  its  own. 

Among  the  first  there  to  respond  to  the  teaching  was 
a  nominal  Christian  of  some  position.  We  call  him 
Lighted  Face  now,  because  of  the  way  the  light  shines 
out.  Soon  after  his  conversion  he  began  to  try  to  win 
others  ;  and  one  of  the  first  his  brightened  life  attracted 
to  enquire,  was  a  young  Hindu  who  for  several  years 
had  been  seeking  the  forgiveness  of  sins. 

We  so  seldom  meet  anyone  who  feels  his  sins  enough 
to  seek  forgiveness,  that  his  story  was  a  rare  dehght,  and 
I  give  it  as  he  told  it  to  us  before  his  baptism  : 

"  I  felt  a  burden  like  a  great  weight  fastened  to  me, 
and  I  could  not  get  it  off.  I  went  to  my  father,  who 
had  long  before  built  a  shrine  wherein  he  worships 
every  day.  I  asked  him,  '  Father,  what  must  one  do 
to  get  one's  sins  forgiven  ?  '  Said  my  father,  '  Learn  a 
thousand  stanzas  of  our  ancient  Tamil  poetry,  then 
your  sins  will  be  forgiven.'  I  learned  the  thousand 
stanzas,  and  many  more  than  those.  I  meditated 
on  the  wisdom  contained  in  them.  But  my  sins  were 
not  forgiven.  Then  I  went  to  my  father  again  ;  I  told 
him  the  burden  was  heavy,  as  heavy  as  before.  He 
advised  me  to  find  an  ascetic  and  propound  my  question 
to  him.  I  found  one  and  pressed  him  hard.  Driven 
to  tell  the  truth,  he  confessed  to  me  that  he  knew  his 


Garden  215 

own  sins  were  not  forgiven.  Then  I  was  indignant. 
Those  who  profess  to  know,  know  nothing.  And  I 
discontinued  my  search." 

Someone  gave  him  a  Bible  about  this  time.  But  the 
giver  was  one  who  beat  out  Hfe's  music  harshly ;  the 
young  man  heard  the  discord.  He  hardly  opened  the 
book. 

Then  he  met  Lighted  Face  ;  the  Hght  drew  him.  The 
two  men  talked  often  together.  Lighted  Face  persuaded 
him  to  Hsten  outside  the  village  prayer-room  while 
h3mins  were  sung,  and  the  way  he  had  sought  in 
vain  was  shown.  A  chorus,  repeatedly  sung,  charmed 
him,  and  he  decided  to  find  out  who  this  Saviour  so 
often  mentioned  really  was,  and  what  He  could  do. 
After  the  meeting  Lighted  Face  led  him  to  Mr.  Walker's 
tent.  He  left  it  a  free  man  :  "I  knew  I  was  free  from 
the  burden." 

After  this,  more  nominal  Christians  and  more  Hindus 
were  converted,  and  gradually  a  band  of  earnest  young 
men  gathered  round  Lighted  Face,  who  proved  to  have 
powers  of  leadership  folded  up  within  him.  The  little 
band  grew  month  by  month,  and  became  keen  to  win 
others. 

The  stir  among  the  Christians  led  to  a  corresponding 
stir  among  the  Hindus.  They  sent  one  of  their  number 
to  be  trained  to  read  and  explain  the  Ramayana. 
Evening  by  evening  they  met  under  an  awning  in  the 
village  square,  and  listened  for  hours  to  the  singsong 
chant,  broked  by  translation  into  colloquial  Tamil.  The 
Christians  then  organised  pubHc  Bible  readings  on  the 
same  plan  ;    the  work  went  on  in  interesting  and  purely 


216  "Dagon  must  Stoop" 

Eastern  fashion,  and  others,  chiefly  young  men,  were 
won. 

Among  the  most  vehement  opposers  was  a  lad  of 
eighteen  or  twenty,  notably  strong  in  badness,  and  im- 
possible to  approach.  He  came  to  open-air  meetings 
and  pubhc  Bible  readings  and  broke  them  up.  He 
excelled  in  all  sorts  of  crude  wickedness.  He  feared 
nobody,  and  cared  for  nothing.  So  when  one  afternoon 
in  the  middle  of  an  open-air  meeting  the  whisper  was 
passed,  "  That  boy  is  here,"  we  prayed,  and  the  message 
went  straight  to  his  heart. 

His  baptism  day  stands  out  marked.  Baptism  with 
us  is  very  simple.  We  all  go  down  to  the  nearest 
water,  and  stand  on  the  bank  or  shore  while  those  about 
to  be  baptized  witness  in  a  few  words  to  their  Saviour. 
Then  the  one  who  is  going  to  give  baptism  walks  into 
the  water,  and  those  who  are  to  be  baptized  follow 
him  out,  till  the  water  is  deep  enough  to  cover  them 
when  they  stoop  as  they  do  in  their  ordinary  bathing. 
Nothing  could  be  less  distracting  or  more  significant 
of  the  inner  meaning  of  baptism.  It  is  a  thought 
clothed  in  a  transparent  deed.  Out  in  the  open  air 
somehow  formahty  seems  shy  of  spoiling  the  service. 
It  all  feels  living  and  real. 

The  nearest  water  to  the  Village  of  the  Grove  is  the 
famous  Copper-coloured  river,  counted  sacred  here.  On 
the  opposite  bank  a  Brahman  town  brought  its  groups 
of  spectators,  clusters  of  women  on  the  flat  housetops, 
and  groups  of  men  on  the  steps  leading  down  to  the 
river.  All  the  Christians  came  with  the  five  new  con- 
verts, and  we  stood  together  on  the  sand  on  the  edge  of 


Grave  or  Garden?  217 

the  sunset-tinted  water.  All  nature  seemed  in  sympathy. 
There  was  such  a  radiance  of  beauty  in  the  light  and  the 
colour  on  the  river.  It  was  as  if  God  were  looking 
down  and  shining  a  smile  through  to  us,  and  we  could 
not  help  looking  up  and  smiling  back  to  Him. 

For  some  months  all  went  well.  The  Village  of  the 
Grove  does  not  expel  converts,  but  it  persecutes  them. 
The  boy's  conduct  was  so  changed  that  the  people 
despaired  of  ordinary  means  of  coercion,  and  tried 
others  ;  he  gave  way,  only  a  little,  but  enough  to  dull 
the  edge  of  his  joy  and  his  confidence  in  God. 

There  is  an  Indian  story  of  a  king  whose  life  was  so 
blameless  that  no  way  could  be  found  by  which  an  evil 
spirit  who  wanted  to  ruin  him  could  enter  in.  At  last, 
one  day  when  he  was  bathing,  the  king  left  one  small 
spot  unwashed.  It  was  only  the  size  of  a  thorn- tip,  but 
it  was  all  the  demon  asked.  The  story  says  he  entered 
by  it,  and  marred  the  good  king's  life.  Some  minute 
point  was  compromised  by  the  boy.  The  Hindus  boasted 
their  victory.  Then  the  boy  sickened  with  fever,  and  his 
relations  took  possession  of  him,  and  would  not  let  the 
Christians  near.  "  He  is  ours  now.  His  heart  is  ours. 
You  will  see  no  more  of  him,"  they  said. 

The  Grove  villagers  do  nothing  by  halves.  The 
Christians  knew  that  great  pressure  would  be  brought 
to  bear  upon  the  boy.  He  would  need  their  help,  they 
knew,  and  they  could  not  go  to  him.  A  week  or  two 
passed,  and  most  unsatisfactory  accounts  of  his  condition 
reached  them.  He  had  yielded  to  his  people.  He  would 
die  a  true  Hindu.     A  day  or  so  later  he  died. 

There   are  lines   in   Milton's  Samson  Agonistes   which 


218  "Dagon  must  Stoop" 

often  invigorate  us.  They  are  too  strong  to  bear 
abbreviation,  so  I  quote  in  full.  Samson  is  speaking  to 
his  father  before  the  last  scene  when  he  pulls  the  house 
down  upon  the  Philistines  : 

"  All  the  contest  is  now 
'Twixt  God  and  Dagon.     Dagon  hath  presumed, 
Me  overthrown,  to  enter  lists  with  God, 
His  deity  comparing  and  preferring 
Before  the  God  of  Abraham.     He,  be  sure, 
Will  not  connive,  or  hnger,  thus  provoked ; 
But  \^ill  arise,  and  His  great  name  assert : 
Dagon  must  stoop,  and  shall  ere  long  receive 
Such  a  discomfit,  as  shall  quite  despoil  him 
Of  all  these  boasted  trophies  won  on  me. 
And  Tvith  confusion  blank  his  worshippers." 

Manoah  answers  : 

"  With  cause  this  hope  reHeves  thee,  and  these  words 
I  as  a  prophecy  receive ;  for  God, 
Nothing  more  certain,  will  not  long  defer 
To  vindicate  the  glory  of  His  name 
Against  all  competition,  nor  will  long 
Endure  it,  doubtful  whether  God  be  Lord, 
Or  Dagon." 

We  heard  at  once  of  the  boy's  death.  There  was 
nothing  to  show  that  God  had  conquered.  It  seemed 
far  more  probable  that  Dagon  having  won  so  much  had 
won  all. 

But  on  the  evening  of  the  same  day  the  Hindus  went 
to  the  Christians  and  said,  "  Take  away  his  body.  Bury 
it  with  your  Christian  rites.  We  could  no  nothing  with 
him.  He  belongs  to  your  God  and  to  you."  They 
admitted  they  had  wrestled  with  him  up  to  the  last. 
Weak,  dying,  he  had  struggled  hard  against  them.     They 


"His  uncontrollable  Intent"         219 

had  considered  him  defeated  because  he  had  given  in  at 
first.  They  found,  to  their  confusion,  they  had  entered 
Usts  with  God.  The  Christians  carried  their  brother 
forth  and  buried  him  with  singing. 

We  felt  it  good  to  know  it.  Naturally  the  relatives 
would  have  suppressed  the  truth,  which  reflected  no 
glory  upon  Dagon.  But  they  told  the  truth  ;  and  we 
who  had  sorrowed,  hurt  by  the  doubt,  rejoiced  when  w^e 
heard  it.  Perhaps  somewhere  there  is  a  heart  that  is 
troubled  though  it  need  not  be,  hurt  by  a  doubt  that 
would  pass  if  it  knew  all.  We  are  children  of  hmited 
vision,  often  distorted  vision.  God  may  see  a  garden 
where  we  only  see  a  grave. 

Sometimes  two  events  or  scenes  are  linked  together 
in  one's  mind  by  very  force  of  contrast.  Those  two  so 
different  funerals  are  like  two  pictures  hung  together  in 
the  Picture  room.  When  the  woman  with  her  silent 
mouth  seems  to  say  hopeless  things,  the  boy  sings : 
Dagon  having  overthrown  Samson  has  entered  lists  with 
God.  Can  we  doubt  as  to  the  end  of  such  a  conflict  ? 
No  smooth  sayings  can  take  away  the  fact  of  sin  :  the 
woman's  face  is  dark.  But  the  boy  :  look  on,  look  on 
to  the  end.     "  The  End  crowns  all." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
The  Spaces  between 

DAGON  must  stoop.  "  With  him  is  an  arm  of  flesh ; 
but  with  us  is  the  Lord  our  God  to  help  us  and 
fight  our  battles."  As  the  splendid  sentence  falls 
we  see  as  in  a  scroll  unrolled  the  future  history  of  the 
world  written  in  clear  characters.  And  yet,  to-day,  if 
we  quietly  contemplate  a  map  and  count  the  countries, 
cities,  towns,  villages,  so  far  as  a  map  shows  them,  which 
are  under  Dagon's  dominion,  those  of  us  who  have  what 
Lord  Selborne  recently  called  an  unholy  thirst  for 
statistics — of  a  somewhat  different  sort — will  feel  simply 
and  utterly  appalled. 

Life  is  full  of  questions  :  even  here — where  happily 
much  that  perplexes  it  at  home  falls  ofi  like  an  encum- 
bering garment — our  uncomplicated  day  has  its  questions. 

How  is  it,  you  ask  yourself  after  studying  things,  so 
far  as  a  Western  may,  from  an  Eastern  point  of  view — 
how  is  it  that  everywhere  the  large  East  is  being 
cramped  into  grooves  wrought  in  the  narrow  West  ? 
What  is  there  of  the  Oriental  in  our  manner  or  our 
spirit  ?  Why  have  we  so  systematically  quenched  the 
national,  the  natural  ?  What  are  we  aiming  at  as  a 
Church  ?     What  is  our  hope    for    the    future    of    these 

220 


§r\ 


t 


m. 


Have  we  lost  it?  221 

people  ?  How  are  we  training  them  to  meet  that  hope  ? 
Was  no  pattern  ever  shown  to  us  as  to  Moses  on  the 
Mount  ?     Or  if  we  had  a  pattern  have  we  lost  it  ? 

These  last  two  questions  came  with  persistency  one 
Sunday  morning  during  mid- service,  to  one  who  for  some 
time  had  been  out  of  the  stream  of  EngHsh  church  hfe  as 
it  flows  now  in  the  main.  Have  you  ever  found  yourself 
wondering,  during  such  a  service,  what  would  happen  if 
suddenly  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  walked  in  ?  Would  His 
simplicity  shame  our  ceremonial,  or  His  radiance  surprise 
our  dulness  ?  Would  the  Uttle  child  taught  to  notice 
such  things  whisper  to  her  mother,  "  How  much  better 
dressed  we  are  than  He."  Would  another  say,  "  Why 
has  everything  stopped  ?  Were  we  not  speaking  to 
Him  before  ?  "  Or  would  everything  go  on  just  as  if  He 
were  not  there  ?  What  would  really  happen,  I  wonder, 
if  Jesus  came  to  church  to-day  ? 

But  beyond  these  questions  lie  others  concerning  the 
unevangelised,  and  our  relation  to  them.  Try  to  evade 
any  one  of  these  questions,  and  it  follows  you,  lays  a 
detaining  hand  on  your  shoulder,  wheels  you  round  till 
you  front  it  again.  There  is  no  escape  from  it  if  you 
think  at  all. 

The  South  Indian  plain  to  the  east  of  the  Ghauts  is 
as  flat  as  land  knows  how  to  he.  To  the  west  of  the 
mountains  there  is  a  garden  that  rises  and  dips  and 
spreads  itself  out  in  most  refreshing  fashion.  Look  at 
Travancore  from  the  heights,  it  is  an  undulating  ocean 
of  green.  There  is  not  much  green  and  no  undulation 
on  the  eastern  side.  In  certain  states  of  atmosphere  it 
is  like  a  sheet  of  pink  blotting-paper.  j 


222  The  Spaces  between 

Perpetual  flatness  has  a  curious  effect  upon  tlie 
undisciplined  soul.  It  creates  a  sort  of  impatience,  an 
unreasonable  feeling  that  somehow  one  must  get  up 
somewhere,  and  look  down  on  something.  Sometimes 
we  yield  to  this  animal  instinct  and  bump  across  country 
for  one  hot  hour,  and  reach  the  rocks  that  have  tumbled 
down  from  the  foothills,  and  scramble  up  one  of  them 
high  enough  to  command  the  plain,  and  revel  in  the 
realisation  that  after  months  of  crawling  on  it  one  has 
not  evolved  into  an  insect,  but  is  still  a  human  being 
with  a  sense  to  delight  in  the  beauty  of  the  world,  and  a 
heart  than  can  dance  with  the  joy  of  living  in  it.  Will 
you  climb  the  rock  with  us  now,  and  share  the  pleasure 
of  the  mountain  view  ;  and  then  look  through  our  eyes 
across  the  plain  to  the  east,  where  the  sky  lies  low  on 
the  land  ? 

From  the  rock  you  see  mountains  rising  almost  sheer 
for  four  or  five  thousand  feet.  Some  slope  finely,  some 
curiously.  There  is  a  single  great  round-headed  block 
of  precipitous  rock  to  the  south.  Sometimes  the  sky- 
line is  notched  with  rough- toothed  granite.  Sometimes 
the  fall  of  the  hills  suggests  the  quiet  folds  round 
Derwentwater.  There  are  forests  climbing  the  ravines, 
and  out-jutting  crags,  and  furrowed  scarps.  There  is  all 
the  familiar  colouring  of  momitain  scenery,  enriched  by 
the  tropical  brilliance  of  atmosphere  which  accentuates 
all  colour.  The  plain  upon  which  we  look  down  at  last, 
with  feelings  of  such  satisfaction,  offers  contrast  in  that 
round  the  rock  foot  it  is  dotted  with  the  stiff  myrtle 
green  of  palmyra  palm,  and  squares  of  emerald  where 
the  young  rice  grows ;  but  on  the  whole  it  harmonises 


The  First  Town  223 

perfectly  with  the  dominant  colour  note  of  the  hills,  blue 
in  all  its  varying  tones,  for  its  prevailing  tint  is  a  soft 
terra-cotta,  caused  by  the  peroxide  of  iron  in  the  soil 
where  it  is  not  under  cultivation.  Close  to  the  southern 
mountain  a  httle  lakelet  looks  up  at  the  hills  and  the 
sky  and  doubles  all  the  beauty.  There  is  stillness  on 
the  rock.  Only  the  call  of  a  shepherd  boy,  unseen  in  the 
palm  wood  below,  floats  up  tremulously.  The  vulgar, 
and  the  noisy,  and  the  petty  ways  of  men  seem  very 
far  away. 

We  have  the  eloquent  among  us  who  can  reel  off 
facts  and  figures  till  the  very  mind  is  giddy.  "  So-and-so 
is  above  detail,"  says  the  admiring  friend,  as  he  listens  to 
another  talk  in  broad  sweeps  of  sentences,  v/hicli  mass 
continents  together  in  most  masterly  fashion. 

But  millions,  however  ingeniously  manipulated,  resolve 
themselves  into  units  when  you  come  to  deal  with  them. 
Eventually  the  unit  is  the  important  thing.  So  let  us 
look  at  just  three  towns  ;  and  lest  even  only  three  should 
produce  an  indistinct  impression,  let  us  look  at  these 
three  towns  as  I  saw  them  first,  one  in  sunshine,  one  in 
sunset,  one  in  moonlight. 

The  first  town  hes  in  a  pastorate  where  the  Christians 
are  too  few  to  evangehse  one-tenth  of  their  villages 
and  towns.  Once  in  two  years,  if  it  can,  the  Men's 
Itinerating  band  goes  round  and  preaches  in  the 
village  streets.  The  caste  women,  shut  up  in  their 
houses,  or  if  free,  too  shy  to  go  near  men,  are  not  much 
reached  by  this.  To  the  pastor's  knowledge,  no  woman 
has  ever  worked  among  the  women  there.  We  had 
been  invited  to  visit  one  who  once  heard  the  outline  of  the 


224  The  Spaces  between 

Crucifixion  story  read  aloud  from  a  Christian  school- 
book,  which  her  boy  had  chanced  upon  in  a  friend's 
house.  Through  the  friend  she  found  out  about  us,  and 
sent  this  word  of  appeal :  "  Where  much  food  is,  there 
no  hunger  is  ;  where  no  food  is,  there  is  hunger."  So, 
thankfully  we  went. 

Look  at  the  town  as  you  see  it  from  the  upper  room 
where  for  an  hour  we  have  had  the  joy  of  pouring  out 
living  water  upon  a  thirsty  soul.  She  has  gone  down- 
stairs at  her  husband's  call.     She  will  return  presently. 

While  we  wait,  look  out  on  the  red  roofs  in  the  quiver 
of  noontide  heat,  on  the  shimmer  of  sunshine  on  the 
palms,  on  the  sparkle  of  the  river  at  their  roots. 

Her  voice  sounds  on  the  stairs.  It  sounds  lovingly, 
for  she  is  speaking  to  her  little  sons ;  but  there  is  a  note 
of  disappointment  in  it,  and  her  face  when  you  see  it 
has  lost  something,  it  has  lost  hope.  She  draws  you  to 
the  verandah  that  opens  from  the  window.  She  points 
down  to  the  roofs  and  the  river.  "  My  husband  says 
he  knows  all  about  this  religion.  He  says  there  never 
has  been  a  Christian  in  this  town.  There  is  no  place  for 
a  Christian  in  any  house  here.  He  says  for  me  to  Hsten 
is  treason  to  my  caste.  My  caste  would  be  disgraced 
for  ever  if  any  of  us  became  Christians." 

But  surely  the  conquering  Light  would  penetrate  if 
it  were  brought  to  bear  upon  this  town  persistently  and 
patiently  ?  That  is  work  which  is  not  being  done. 
There  is  no  one  at  present  to  do  it. 

It  is  evening  when  we  reach  the  second  town.  We 
are  on  our  way  to  the  third,  and  cannot  stop.  But 
we   sing  as  we  pass  through  the  streets ;   sometimes  a 


The  Second  Town  225 

song  carries  far.  As  we  drive  through  the  Brahman 
street,  a  thoroughfare  here,  and  open  to  all,  some  little 
schoolgirls  run  after  the  bandy,  trying  to  pick  up  the 
words.  Thereat  a  man  rushes  out  upon  them,  disperses 
them,  and  orders  us  to  drive  faster.  "  Who  wants 
Christian  singing  in  this  street  ?  "  The  Temple  gong 
booms  out  "  Who  ?  " 

In  one  of  the  houses  we  are  passing,  some  years  ago 
a  boy  was  confined  and  guarded  night  and  day.  He 
was  beaten  hard ;  drugs  were  mixed  with  his  food. 
When  he  slept,  Vishnu's  mark  was  put  on  his  forehead, 
and  the  filthy  water  called  holy,  in  which  the  idols  had 
been  washed,  was  sprinkled  upon  him.  He  was  treated 
as  an  idiot,  and  a  green  paste,  supposed  to  cure  the 
insane,  was  rubbed  upon  his  head.  One  night  his  father 
in  great  wrath  took  a  knife,  intending  to  stab  him.  "  I 
simply  told  him,"  he  says,  "  the  words  of  our  Master, 
'  Fear  not  them  that  kill  the  body.'  "  Others  interfered 
then,  and  withheld  the  father  from  kilhng  his  son. 
Violence  having  failed,  it  was  proposed  that  a  famous 
magician  from  Travancore,  "  who  could  make  one 
paralysed,  or  truly  insane,  or  possessed  of  a  devil," 
should  be  sent  for  ;  wicked  stories  were  told  to  the  boy, 
in  order  to  break  down  the  gates  of  his  will  from 
another  side.  His  sister  and  a  little  niece  whom  he 
dearly  loved  were  brought  to  try  to  win  him  back. 
They  fell  at  his  feet,  and  clung  to  him,  and  wept. 
Orthodox  Hindus,  educated  Hindus,  and  even  a  nominal 
Christian  were  brought  to  try  to  subvert  his  faith.  They 
argued  with  him  in  vain.  At  last  the  father  professed 
to  agree  to  his  being  a  Christian,  reading  his  Bible, 
1=; 


226  The  Spaces  between 

praying,  even  attending  cliurch,  if  only  he  would  consent 
to  wear  the  Vishnu  mark,  the  trident  on  his  forehead, 
and  the  Brahman  thread  upon  his  shoulders.  But  God 
gave  it  to  him  to  detect  the  snare  in  that  delusive 
proposal,  and  braced  him  utterly  to  scorn  it.  After  four 
months  of  confinement  and  mental  strain,  the  boy  was 
so  reduced  that  it  was  thought  he  could  not  live  long. 
It  was  very  hot  weather,  and  the  jailers  themselves 
found  it  irksome  to  keep  guard  in  the  little  inner  room  ; 
so,  thinking  he  was  too  weak  to  escape,  they  allowed 
him  to  sleep  unfettered  on  the  verandah.  One  early 
morning,  in  the  dark  before  the  dawn,  he  felt  as  if  an 
angel  awakened  him  out  of  his  sleep.  He  rose  up,  knelt 
down,  and  prayed  for  strength  to  walk.  He  was  sur- 
rounded by  people,  but  they  did  not  wake.  He  dropped 
silently  down  into  the  street ;  strength  came  ;  the  morning 
star,  he  says,  was  shining  over  his  path.  He  ran  through 
the  streets,  across  the  plain  eleven  miles  to  the  Mission- 
house,  and  was  safe. 

How  forceful  the  darkness  seems,  as  one  thinks  over 
such  a  story  in  the  very  town  where  it  happened,  and 
might  happen  again  to-day  ;  how,  as  if  it  were  living  and 
wicked,  it  struggles  to  eclipse  the  light,  and  force  it  out 
to  shine  elsewhere.  The  glory  of  sunset  rests  on  the 
temple  tower,  streams  round  the  town,  wraps  it  in 
beauty  ;  but  the  swiftly  moving  Eastern  night  is  upon 
us  before  we  are  out  of  reach  of  the  rumble  of  the  gong, 
and  the  clang  of  the  cymbal,  and  the  rattle  of  the  drum 
from  the  temple  ;  and  these  sounds  of  Vishnu's  worship 
chase  us  out  of  the  town. 

The  moon  has  risen  when  we  reach  the  third  town. 


The  Third  Town  227 

You  can  see  tlie  central  temple  tower  outlined  dark  and 
sharp  against  the  sky.  The  long  streets  stretch  all 
silver  white,  the  palms  that  line  the  Brahman  street  are 
like  plumes  of  shining  silver.  It  is  all  so  purely  silvery 
that  the  very  town  seems  silver-washed,  and  the  people 
in  their  white  garments  in  the  white  light  seem  almost 
other-earthly,  too  pure  for  earth.  But  look  closer. 
These  many  people  who  fill  the  streets  at  this  late  hour 
are  returning  from  a  festival.  Each  man  has  a  mark 
on  his  brow.  The  moonlight  shows  it  distinctly.  Tt 
is  the  print  of  Vishnu's  foot.  Our  spirit  is  stirred 
within  us  as  we  pass  through  the  quiet  crowd.  Vishnu's 
foot  is  everywhere.  Next  morning,  when  we  ask  about 
the  place,  we  hear  that  only  two  converts,  young  men, 
have  ever  been  known  to  come  out  as  Christians.  Both 
found  it  impossible  to  live  there  afterwards.  There  is 
no  witness  from  within  where  that  town  is  concerned. 

The  Christian  traveller  naturally  wishes  to  see  the 
work  that  is  being  done.  He  is  shown  it  and  rejoices. 
He  is  rarely  found  stud5dng  hfe  as  it  is  outside  the 
mission  centre.  The  mind  retains  most  vividly  what  the 
eye  has  seen  most  frequently,  and  so  we  usually  find 
that  the  impression  left  upon  the  visitor  is  that  India  is 
a  land  studded  with  mission  stations,  netted  with  organis- 
ation, sprinkled  with  stars. 

And  yet,  if  guided  by  one  who  knew,  he  had  gone  a 
httle  way  from  the  beaten  track,  he  would  have  seen  manv 
a  wide  expanse  of  country  where  little  or  nothing  worth 
calling  work  is  being  done.  He  would  have  seen  all  his 
eye  cjuld  hold  of  the  millions  who  are  quite  out  of  reach 
of    light,    or    else — and    this    is    sadder    still — strangely 


228  The  Spaces  between 

unaffected  by  the  light  in  their  vicinity.  He  would 
have  seen  that  we  have  hardly  touched  the  thin  fringe 
of  the  great  darkness. 

But  perhaps,  if  he  talked  chiefly  with  those  whose 
Missionary  lot  is  cast  on  the  inner  side  of  the  halo 
that  circles  the  star-clusters  God  has  scattered  through 
this  night,  he  would  be  puzzled  by  what  seems  contra- 
diction in  evidence.  Those  of  us  who  Hve  inside  the 
little  Christian  circle  are  usually  so  engrossed  by  its 
many  and  pressing  claims,  that  we  are  hardly  likely 
to  see  far  beyond  its  borders.  This  explains  much  he 
may  hear.  Let  him,  as  we  said,  take  a  guide,  and  go 
out  beyond  the  familiar  constellations,  and  wander  awhile 
in  the  spaces  between.  Then,  if  he  has  eyes  to  see,  and 
a  heart  to  feel  at  all,  he  will  find  his  very  soul  scored 
with  scars  that  never  can  be  erased.  God  give  us  hearts 
that  will  care  more,  and  eyes  that  are  clearer  to  see  past 
the  edge  of  the  halo  rim,  over  the  walls  of  our  com- 
pounds, away  up  through  His  wide  world,  till  we  feel  as 
we  never  felt  before  the  overwhelming  enormousness  of 
the  work  that  is  not  being  done,  in  places  where  souls 
are  sitting  in  a  darkness  which  does  not  pass. 

We  are  up  on  the  rock-top  still,  resting  in  the  utter 
peace.  The  sun  has  set.  It  will  soon  be  after-glow. 
The  plain  looks  immense  in  the  gloaming,  the  moun- 
tains very  high.  Five  minutes  pass.  We  watch  the 
clouds  slip  down  the  bare  slopes  of  the  nearer  hills. 
There  is  a  hush  as  if  mountains,  plain,  and  sky,  were 
waiting  for  something  sure  to  come.  It  comes,  gently 
at   first,   then   with    a    majestic    sweep    as    the    pent-up 


But  it  is  there  229 

energy  of  light  breaks  forth  and  floods  the  atmosphere. 
Then  the  sky  flames  out  in  a  fan  of  fire,  and  the  russet 
reaches  of  burnt  hill  grass,  and  the  patches  of  reddish 
earth  on  the  plain,  kindle  suddenly,  and  the  mountains, 
half  emerging  from  clouds  that  are  golden  now,  stand 
solemn  in  their  purple.  All  the  world  seems  full  of 
song,  with  shapes  and  colours  for  music  and  words,  as 
the  sky  grows  blue  in  the  east,  and  pales  into  opal 
above.  To  the  west  it  still  burns  and  flames,  and  the 
glory  of  it  lingers  on  the  plain  as  we  come  down.  We 
almost  quite  forget  the  dark  in  this  loveliness  of  light. 

But  it  is  there  :  we  see  it  personified,  down  below. 
For  set  in  a  hollow,  jutting  jet  black  from  the  black 
of  the  shadow,  with  outstretched  hand  that  grasps  a 
knife,  is  a  single  hateful  threatening  form,  the  idol  of 
the  rock. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 
Mosaic 

ITINERATING  work  is  a  work  without  an  evident  end. 
It  is  full  of  fragments  variously  cut  and  coloured 
which  sometimes  seem  to  be  strewn  about  to  no 
purpose.  And  you  want  to  retrace,  and  gather  the 
pieces  together,  and  fit  them  into  something.  But  you 
probably  find  this  is  not  your  business.  Occasionally, 
however,  you  are  allowed  to  go  back  and  see  how  God 
has  been  fitting  into  His  great  mosaic  the  pieces  you 
thought  scattered  and  lost,  and  you  see  how  He  thought 
of  each  little  piece,  when  He  formed  the  design  at  the 
first. 

Star  has  recently  lost  her  father.  He  had  been  draw- 
ing nearer  to  us  all  in  friendliness,  and  had  given  up 
idolatry ;  but  he  had  not  accepted  Christ,  because  as 
head  of  his  caste  he  had  so  much  to  lose.  And  yet,  as 
death  came  swiftly,  he  would  not  allow  them  to  do  any- 
thing idolatrous.  "  No,  it  is  no  use,"  he  said.  And 
almost  his  last  thought  was  for  the  child  he  had  cursed 
once,  but  forgiven.  "  Don't  write  to  her  till  I  am  gone  ; 
she  cannot  come  in  time."  And  all  his  thoughts  were 
kindly  and  gentle  as  he  passed  away. 

When  he  passed  the   priest  took  possession.    Every- 

230 


Home,  but  not  at  Home      231 

thing  was  done  in  style.  Four  hundred  rupees  were  spent 
on  the  Brahmans  and  relations,  who  were  sumptuously- 
feasted  for  days.  By  the  time  we  got  there,  things  had 
settled  down  into  a  tired-out  quietness.  Even  the  poor 
mother  had  hardly  spirit  to  rise  to  the  customary  wail, 
and  the  call  of  the  Uttle  sisters,  "  Father  !  our  sister  has 
come  !  "  sounded  wearily. 

It  was  a  difficult  day.  Between  those  who  love  our 
Lord  and  those  who  do  not,  there  is  a  separation  which 
no  affection  can  quite  cross.  Star  could  not  do  all  they 
wanted  her  to  do,  so  they  thought  her  unfeeling.  They 
did  not  know  of  the  heart-broken  crying,  night  after 
night,  as  she  woke  up  dreaming  about  her  father.  She 
did  not  wail  in  the  orthodox  way,  using  unmeaning,  un- 
truthful expressions  ;  so  they  thought  she  did  not  care. 

There  was  lonehness  outside,  that  curious  loneliness 
which  comes  when  you  return  to  a  place  which  once 
knew  you  well,  and  now  knows  you  no  more.  The 
very  houses  and  streets  were  dear,  but  they  looked 
coldly  upon  her.  She  had  sat  among  her  own,  indoors, 
and  after  the  first  greeting  they  had  looked  upon  her 
askance.  She  went  out  to  renew  her  friendship  with 
the  famihar  things,  and  they  said  to  her,  "  We  do  not 
belong  to  you."  The  little  sisters  ceased  calling  to 
their  father  to  come,  and  began  to  talk  of  a  wedding 
and  jewels.  "  If  you  will  marry  according  to  caste,  and 
wear  suitable  jewels,  we  will  all  join  the  Way."  We 
were  hospitably  entertained,  and  treated  with  more  than 
common  kindness  ;  they  even  let  us  share  in  the  family 
meal  (as  they  were  mourning,  caste  rules  were  re- 
laxed), and  Star's  mother  insisted  on  feeding  me  with 


232  Mosaic 

her  own  hand,  pressing  dainty  morsels  rolled  in  moist 
balls  into  my  mouth.  But  there  was  always  the  sense 
of  separation,  the  chasm  between.  They  would  not  let 
Star  mention  the  Lord  Jesus  :  "  Have  you  not  ratten 
us  many  letters  ?  Is  that  not  enough  ?  "  They  pressed 
jewels  upon  her  :  "  Your  ear  lobes  ought  to  be  dangling 
to  your  shoulders,  and  crammed  with  jewels.  We  are 
ashamed  of  your  appearance."  They  filled  the  day  with 
conversation  about  such  matters,  and  Star's  sore  heart 
grew  sorer.  The  house  to  her  was  full  of  her  father,  and 
they  could  talk  of  these  trivial  things.  The  day  was 
shadowed  in  other  ways  ;  we  were  so  often  reminded 
that  under  all  the  colour  of  this  colourful  land  there 
is  something  heavy  and  black. 

Among  Star's  cousins  is  a  young  wife  whose  wistful- 
ness  told  us  at  once  that  she  had  no  little  children.  A 
childless  wife  is  not  honoured  here  ;  and  a  look  grows 
into  the  face  which  tells  the  tale  of  the  years.  We 
went  to  her  house ;  it  is  large  and  roomy,  built  to  be 
filled  but  empty.  "  Her  husband  deals  in  magic," 
someone  explained,  and  we  understood.  Childlessness, 
according  to  tradition,  is  the  price  paid  for  possession 
of  occult  power.  The  magician's  generation  ceases  with 
himself. 

Then  story  after  story  was  half  whispered,  half 
gestured ;  stories  full  of  mystery,  told  with  perfect 
simphcity  and  no  sense  of  surprise  or  untruth,  but 
always  under  breath,  as  if  they  feared  the  Power  would 
overhear.  These  stories  were  all  about  the  influence 
of  a  certain  curalai,  a  medium  belonging  to  the  girl's 
husband  ;   it  was  kept  in  a  corner  of  the  house  where  we 


The  Cabinet  233 

sat,  and  they  offered  to  show  it  to  me,  but  the  thing, 
besides  being  in  measure  Satanic,  was  made  of  an 
infant's  bones,  and  I  had  no  desire  to  see  it.  "  If  ^e 
brought  it  out,  and  so  willed  it,  he  could  mesmerise  you 
perfectly,"  they  all  affirmed  with  confidence,  and  I  felt 
half  inclined  to  let  him  try,  and  prove  the  fallacy,  but 
resisted  the  temptation  ;  it  would  have  done  no  good. 
The  East  is  the  home  of  spirituafism  and  hypnotism. 
The  secrets  connected  with  mental  suggestion  and  sub- 
consciousness are  open  secrets  here.  But  though  this 
wonderful  old  land,  with  its  wonderful  old  ways,  lies  all 
round  us,  most  of  us  live  in  it  without  knowing  much 
about  it.  It  hides  itself  from  us.  Even  its  language 
has  its  hidden  talk,  an  ingenious  combination  of  vocals 
and  consonants  worked  into  the  colloquial.  India  is  a 
cabinet  of  drawers,  and  secret  drawers.  We  only  know 
enough  to  know  that  we  do  not  know. 

From  this  home  we  went  to  another  where  the 
parents  of  one  of  Mr.  Walker's  convert  boys  live.  We 
were  shown  into  a  courtyard  packed  with  servants 
teasing  cotton.  The  air  was  full  of  the  white  fluff,  and 
we  found  it  difficult  to  speak.  But  the  good-natured, 
laughter-loving  people  were  ready  to  Hsten  ;  it  made  a 
little  diversion  in  their  day.  After  we  had  finished 
with  them,  their  master,  our  boy's  father,  led  us  up  a 
narrow  ladder  to  a  loft  at  the  top  of  the  house.  We 
had  heard  that  loft  described,  and  looked  round  it  with 
interest.  "  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  reading  our  thought, 
"  this  is  the  room  I  locked  him  in.  For  five  days  and 
five  nights  I  kept  him  here.  I  tied  him  to  that  pillar. 
I  locked  up  that  windov/  lest  he  should  slip  through  it 


234  Mosaic 

out  on  the  roof."*  All  this  frankness  was  surprising  ; 
one  learns  to  look  behind  frankness  in  India.  "  But  now- 
all  desire  that  he  should  be  a  Hindu  has  faded  from 
my  mind.  I  have  not  the  least  feeling  of  anything  but 
complete  satisfaction  that  he  should  be  a  Christian.  I 
beseech  you  to  tell  the  Iyer  this,  and  to  persuade  him 
to  send  the  boy  home.  See  I  his  mother  is  pining  to 
death  for  her  son.''  And  the  mother  was  dramaticaUv 
produced. 

For  a  moment  I  smiled.  The  old  man's  ulterior 
object  was  so  very  evident.  I  wondered  how  he  could 
expect  us  to  be  so  easily  caught.  But  a  glance  at  the 
mother  sent  a  pang  through  me.  It  was  true  :  she  was 
pining  to  death  for  her  son.  The  Sword  and  Variance 
cut  cruelly. 

I  dare  not  give  the  parents  hope  that  the  Iyer  would 
send  the  boy  back.  It  would  have  been  too  dangerous. 
"  What  happened  last  time  your  word  was  trusted  and 
he  was  brought  to  see  you  I  ''  "  Ah.,  that  was  an  un- 
fortimate  misadventure."  and  the  old  man  waved  his 
hand  lightly  as  if  waving  ofi  its  memory.  An  hour  or 
two  later  we  passed  the  place  where  the  "  misadventure  " 
occurred.  One  of  our  little  party  had  been  through  it, 
and  described  it  to  me  with  spirit :  "  Hundreds  of  the 
boy's  caste  men,  led  by  his  father  and  mother,  came 
rushing  for  us  at  once  like  a  fury  of  great  waters.  See, 
here  they  seized  the  bulls  and  tore  them  out  of  the 
cart.  And  here  the  mother  threw  herself  down  on  the 
ground  and  raved  and  would  not  stir.  So  many  people 
pressing  aU  round,  and  roaring,  all  their  mouths  open, 
and    all    their    hands    stretched    out — and    we    in    the 


"Kept"  235 

midst  of  it.  Oh,  such  angry  faces  !  Oh,  how  they 
shouted,  and  they  hissed  upon  us  like  snakes.  Then 
God  came  to  our  deUverance.  For  the  aged  Headman 
sent  to  his  son  and  said,  '  Years  ago  a  white  man  helped 
me.  There  is  a  white  man  in  trouble  now.  Go  and 
help  him  in  his  need.'  But  when  the  son  came  he  was 
dismayed.  '  The  people  are  too  strong  for  me.  What 
can  I  do  ?  I  am  but  one.'  Then  suddenly  God 
bestowed  courage  upon  him,  and  he  threw  up  his  arms 
and  shouted,  and  he  quelled  the  riot,  and  we  passed 
through." 

That  day,  together  in  the  bungalow,  Mrs.  Walker  and 
I  had  read  Daily  Light,  and  found  comfort  in  it :  '*  Holy 
Father,  keep  through  Thine  own  name  those  whom  Thou 
hast  given  Me."  We  did  not  apprehend  such  danger, 
but  we  knew  there  was  peril  in  the  experiment  of  taking 
a  bandy  load  of  converts  back  to  their  own  village  to 
witness  to  their  own  people,  even  though  we  had  the 
promise  of  safe  conduct.  But  good  came  out  of  apparent 
harm.     That  day  has  it  place  in  the  mosaic. 

We  left  Star's  home  in  the  evening,  and,  some  miles 
from  it,  came  upon  a  patch  of  garden  ground.  Out  on 
the  great  sand  waste,  where  nothing  grows  but  palm  and 
scrub,  there  is  a  company  of  true  believers  led  by  a 
simple  countrjraan,  who,  unknown  to  the  preacher,  was 
converted  through  an  ordinary  sermon  in  church.  This 
man  went  home,  started  what  would  now  be  called  a 
Prayer  Circle,  led  it,  went  out  witnessing  to  the  sur- 
rounding villages,  and  so  impressed  the  httle  group  of 
Christians  in  his  village  with  the  immense  importance 
of  this  witnessing  work,  that,  out  of  their  poverty,  they 


236  Mosaic 

subscribed  towards  the  expenses  involved.  In  country, 
as  in  town,  the  number  who  receive  the  truth  is  small. 
Village  after  village,  the  pastor  tells  you  sorrowfully,  is 
without  a  single  real  Christian,  and  the  towns  stand 
almost  unmoved.     But  the  witness  is  being  borne. 

In  the  adjoining  village  we  saw  more  of  the  mosaic. 
The  pastor  and  his  wife,  the  same  who  helped  Gladness, 
are  warm  and  most  courageous  where  converts  are  con- 
cerned. Their  brave  influence  has  helped  many.  When 
we  remembered  how  this  came  about,  we  wondered  at 
the  ways  of  God,  who  expends  so  much  thought  upon 
preparing  one  to  help  another,  and  then  so  works  that 
those  who  need  a  certain  sort  of  help  are  brought  in 
touch  with  those  prepared  to  give  it.  The  mosaic  is 
being  fashioned  everywhere. 

Among  those  about  whom  we  inquired,  there  were 
some  whose  stories  seem  like  broken  bits  of  a  broken 
plan.  As  many  have  asked  about  them  we  mention 
them  here.  Treasure  and  Gold,  tw^o  girls  who  once 
were  almost  martyrs  for  Jesus'  sake,  had  been  married 
to  Hindus  and  sent  far  away.  We  went  to  the  place 
on  the  lake,  near  its  httle  temple,  where  Gold  had  been 
almost  drowned.  We  stood  on  the  same  lake-side  where 
Treasure  stood  to  be  scourged.  They  had  been  pressed 
too  far.     They  had  both  quite  given  in. 

The  little  child,  the  rose-bud  crushed,  had  been  for- 
gotten by  everyone  ;  spoiled  flowers  are  soon  forgotten 
in  this  forgetful  world.  The  child  we  last  saw  drugged 
was  dead  ;  her  first  year  killed  her,  the  woman  said,  and 
before  I  could  stop  them,  they  told  me  how.  The  story 
sickened  us  for  days.     What  must  the  holy  Son  of  God 


"Lent"  237 

have  suffered  in  spirit  day  by  day,  all  through  those 
years  of  human  life,  as  He  saw  life's  sin,  and  heard  its 
moan,  and  knew  it  never  need  have  been. 

But  by  far  the  most  sorrow-laden  hour  was  spent  in 
the  village  from  which  the  little  child  was  taken  to  the 
temple  near  our  house.  We  saw  the  relative  whose 
word  could  have  prevented  it.  He  told  us  the  child  was 
in  the  village  "  lent  by  the  temple."  We  saw  her,  a 
child  changed — most  piteously  changed.  All  we  had 
feared  had  been  done. 

"  They  chained  her  fair  young  body  to  the  cokl  and  cruel  stone  ; 
The  beast  begot  of  sea  and  sHme  had  marked  her  for  his  own. 
The  callous  world  beheld  the  wrong,  and  left  her  there  alone. 
Base  caitiffs  who  behed  her,  false  kinsmen  who  denied  her. 
Ye  left  her  there — alone." 

Married  to  the  god,  "  tied  to  the  stone,"  it  is  their 
very  idiom  :  oh,  the  burning,  unspeakable  wrong  of  it ! 
Cold,  cold,  one  may  try  to  be,  and  it  is  easy  to  be  cold 
when  one  only  reads  of  it ;  but  when  one  sees  it,  sees 
the  changed  child-face,  sees  the  passing  of  the  innocence 
that  will  never  come  again  ;  feels,  as  if  one's  own  soul 
felt  it,  the  brand  of  the  iron,  the  sting  of  the  shame, 
then  it  is  not  easy  to  be  cold.  India  sees  a  pathetic 
picture  in  the  lamb  in  the  slaughter-house,  "  which  crops 
the  fragrant  shoots  that  dangle  from  the  slayer's  hand." 
When  will  she  see  something  far  more  pathetic  in  the 
play  of  these  small  child  lambs  in  the  shambles  within 
her  Temple  courts  ? 

But  as  I  looked  back  to  that  heart-breaking  sight, 
the  sight  of  that  little  doomed  lamb  being  led  through 
the  wood  and  away,  it  seemed  as  though  I  were  looking 


238  Mosaic 

upon  a  piece  of  the  mosaic,  a  blood-red  bit  meant  to 
fit  somewhere,  even  now  fitting  into  its  place.  For  have 
not  many  eyes  followed  that  child  in  her  walk  through 
the  wood  ?  Have  hearts  not  ached  to  run  after  her,  and 
catch  her,  and  save  her,  as  she  turned  and  waved  her 
little  hand  ?  And  the  child  they  saw  drugged  on  the 
floor  ?  Have  some  not  looked  again  and  again,  and  then 
looked  up  in  anguish,  that  found  relief  only  in  strong 
crying  and  teats  unto  Him  that  was  able  to  save  ?  Has 
the  pain  all  passed  in  vain  ?  and  the  prayer  ?  Is  there 
no  connection  between  that  first  breaking  out  of  prayer 
and  the  beginning  of  what  looks  like  an  answer  ?  Nine 
months  after  that  first  prayer,  the  word  came  unmistak- 
ably, "  Come,  search  for  the  little  lost  lambs  with 
Me."  Since  then,  the  search  has  gone  on,  and  some 
have  been  found.  Will  not  the  Good  Shepherd  go  on 
finding  His  lambs  ?  Perhaps  the  Temple  children's  time 
has  come  at  last. 

The  Fort  lay  on  our  homeward  way.  No  one  had 
visited  it  since  we  last  went,  though  afterwards  a  sister 
missionary  had  a  good  entrance  there.  We  had  been 
travelling  for  days,  and  had  a  long  journey  before  us  that 
night,  but  the  hope  of  an  opened  door  braced  us,  as  we 
went  in.  Again  the  unchanging  silence.  The  very  sun- 
shine seemed  stiller  here  than  outside.  We  found  our 
way  as  of  old  to  the  shadiest  street,  and  waited  awhile, 
but  no  one  came  ;  so  we  went  on,  found  a  deserted 
house  in  good  repair,  explored  its  rooms  through  barred 
windows  ;  went  on  farther,  saw  shrines,  near  the  temple, 
small  shrines  full  of  idols  ;  saw  traces  everywhere  of  life, 
strong  thougirso  old,  but  saw  no  life  :    only  a  black  goat 


"There  is  Death  here"  239 

wandered  free,  and  the  sparrows  chirped,  and  squirrels 
darted  across  the  path. 

We  ventured  to  knock  at  last.  The  door  suddenly- 
opened,  and  as  suddenly  shut,  then  opened  again,  and  a 
woman's  voice  called,  "  Whoever  you  are,  by  the  way  you 
came — Go  !     There  is  death  here  :  go  !  " 

We  found  an  awning  of  mats,  where  four  ways  met, 
and  waited,  wondering  if  anyone  would  come.  No  woman 
would,  we  knew,  but  a  man  might.  Presently  one 
came.  "  Are  you  the  pulse-feeling  Missie  Ammal  ?  The 
Government  sent  one  here  last  week,  and  we  showed  her 
the  kindness  of  allowing  her  to  feel  our  women's  pulses." 
The  questioner  was  a  young  man  educated  outside,  as 
some  of  the  younger  generation  are.  He  was  interested 
in  our  message,  and  promised  to  influence  his  people  to 
listen  to  it,  or,  as  he  put  it,  "  learn."  The  Headman, 
"  Absolute  Truth-speaker,"  would,  he  was  sure,  put  no 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  the  women  and  children  being 
taught.  We  could  not  see  him  ;  he  was  mourning,  as  all 
the  Fort  was,  because  of  the  death  of  one  of  the  Clan. 

Several  bright  httle  girls  came  out  very  shyly,  and  we 
made  friends  with  them.  A  servant  passed,  flattening 
himself  against  the  wall  before  he  got  within  con- 
taminating radius.  The  children  drew  their  small 
garments  close  about  them  lest  his  very  shadow  should 
fall  and  defile.  The  man  seemed  almost  to  shrivel  up  in 
his  servility.  The  children  glanced  at  him  not  unkindly, 
but  the  pride  and  the  ignorance  of  centuries  was  painted 
as  by  an  invisible  hand  upon  their  little  faces  then. 

After  a  while  they  left  us,  and  we  went  to  one  of  the 
tamarind  trees  near  the  door  of  the  Fort,  and  kneeHng 


240  Mosaic 

there  in  the  shade  prayed  for  the  place  as  we  never 
prayed  before.  We  left  it  then,  wrapped  in  that  strange 
hush,  unbroken  by  even  the  sound  of  the  chant  they 
raise  for  their  dead. 

We  travelled  straight  on  that  afternoon  and  night, 
stopping  only  at  midnight  to  dine,  and  then  chiefly 
because  the  bandy-man  had  lost  his  way.  And  as  we 
sat  there  in  the  quiet  dark,  with  the  silence  of  the  sky 
above  us  and  the  plain  about  us,  the  solemnity  of  life  in 
this  land  pressed  upon  us,  bore  in  upon  us,  penetrated  us. 
The  people  pass  across  the  plain  so  quickly.  Oh,  are  we 
half  in  earnest  to  reach  them  before  they  pass  ? 


CHAPTER   XXX 
Background 

"  TTTHAT  you  see  in  a  thing  depends  very  much  upon 
f  T  its  background."  The  words  bear  a  wide  inter- 
pretation. You  return  from  an  itinerating 
tour  thankful  for  any  sign  of  victory,  but  heart-sore 
because  of  the  triumph  of  evil,  and  foot-sore  too,  for  so 
often  you  trod  upon  graves  that  appear  not ;  sometimes 
such  small  child-graves  that  the  pity  of  it  appealed.  If 
you  have  any  voice  left,  you  sing  choruses  of  praise  and 
gladness  as  your  bullock- cart  slowly  trundles  along,  but 
through  the  choruses,  often  and  often  from  somewhere 
very  deep  within  you,  the  cry  cuts  its  way  out :  "  Oh,  let 
the  wickedness  of  the  wicked  come  to  an  end  !  "  The 
end  seems  far  enough  distant  to-day.  The  sound  of  a 
shaken  leaf  shall  chase  them — yes,  but  when  ?  Come, 
Lord  Jesus  !     Come  quickly  ! 

The  bullock-cart  blunders  through  the  village,  and 
turns  into  the  compound.  There  is  a  dab  of  colour  at 
the  gate.  It  moves,  scatters,  resolves  itself  into  dancing 
dots  of  crimson  and  blue.  Then  there  are  shouts  of 
welcome,  sadly  unmodulated  probably,  but  very  sincere. 
Little  happy  children  are  running  all  about,  bewildering 
the  bulls,  climbing  into  the  bandy,  lifting  up  raptured 
i6 


242  Background 

smaller  ones  to  be  pulled  into  the  bandy  and  kissed. 
Dark  in  the  distance  is  the  background.  Poor  Uttle 
child— 

"  They  left  thee  in  thy  peril  and  thy  pain, 

i   The  night  that  hath  no  morrow  was  brooding  o'er  the  main." 

Strange  background  for  any  little  child  :  the  peril  and 
the  pain,  and  the  night  that  has  no  morrow. 

*'  But  lo  !    a  Hght  is  breaking  of  hope  for  thee  again  "  : 

the  foreground  fills  with  the  light ;  and  the  joy  you  find  in 
it  is  intensified  by  every  throb  of  consciousness  of  what  the 
background  meant.  The  next  few  chapters  are  intended 
only  for  lovers  of  little  children.  They  will  be  fore- 
ground.    This  chapter,  by  way  of  background,  comes  first. 

One  of  our  Temple-children  workers  was  with  me  when, 
after  several  years'  absence  from  the  place,  I  spent  a  few 
days  near  the  village  which  used  to  be  our  home,  and 
visited  the  house  from  which  the  Elf,  our  first  Temple 
child,  escaped. 

It  is  a  palm-leaf  thatched  cottage  in  a  secluded  street 
near  the  Temple.  The  woman  I  so  well  remembered, 
whose  eyes  seemed  hypnotic  in  influence,  met  us  outside 
the  courtyard,  and,  to  our  surprise,  half  welcomed  us. 
There  were  five  children  there.  The  two  eldest,  girls  of 
about  eleven  and  twelve,  had  come  to  the  bungalow  to 
coax  the  Elf  to  leave  us  ;  they  remembered  me,  and  ran 
up  in  friendly  fashion,  full  of  questions.  "  Is  she  not 
married  ?  We  were  married  two  years  ago !  "  And 
they  pulled  at  their  little  garments  and  showed  me  the 
Temple  marriage  symbol  fastened  to  their  necklets. 
"  Do  you  say  she   is    not  married  yet  ?     Has  she  nice 


''To    THE   GOD,    YOU   UNDERSTAND?"         243 

jewels  and   silks?     No   jewels?    no  silks?     Oh!    Aiyo ! 
Aiyo  !     Why  does  she  not  come  back  ?  " 

A  sweet  shy  child  of  six  drew  close  to  us,  and  laid  a 
Hght  httle  hand  in  mine.  She  reminded  me  of  the 
Elf  as  she  was  when  she  came  to  us  first,  only  the  Elf 
was  never  shy.  The  others  pointed  to  her  as  she  stood 
in  the  grace  of  her  childish  beauty.  "  She  is  to  be  married 
next  month,  or  the  month  after,  to  the  god,  you  under- 
stand ?  Great  Perumal !  She  will  have  better  jewels 
then  than  these  she  is  wearing  now.  Beautiful  jewels 
like  ours." 

At  this  point  the  woman  interfered,  and  whispered 
something  to  the  children  about  our  having  come  to 
catch  them  by  magic,  as  we  had  caught  the  Elf.  This 
frightened  them,  and  thereafter  they  peeped  at  us  from 
behind  the  Temple  woman,  to  whom  we  talked  for 
a  while.  But  the  dear  little  younger  one  would  not 
be  frightened,  she  came  quietly  close  again.  "  Chee  !  " 
said  the  Temple  woman,  and  swept  them  all  into  the 
house. 

We  feared  nothing  could  be  done  to  save  that  httle 
girl,  whose  grace  and  sweetness  had  won  upon  us  so  ;  but 
to  make  sure,  we  wrote  to  a  friend  in  the  Civil  Service 
who  would  do  anything  in  his  power  to  save  these 
children.  We  put  the  facts  before  him.  His  answer, 
written  after  consideration  and  inquiry,  came  to  this  : 

As  things  are,  you  can  do  nothing.  Not  that  there 
is  no  law  bearing  upon  such  a  case,  but  that  its 
provisions  are  inadequate  and  need  considerable  amend- 
ment, if  prosecution  is  to  issue  in  the  salvation  of  the 
child. 


244  Background 

It  is  two  months  since  that  day.  The  Httle  girl  of 
six  years  old  is  married  to  Perumal  now.  "  One  more 
devil's  triumph,  and  sorrow  for  angels.  One  more  wrong 
to  man.     One  more  insult  to  God." 

In  another  house,  belonging  to  another  temple  in  the 
same  village,  we  found  a  secular  marriage  in  progress. 
The  bride  was  the  Temple  woman's  sister.  Fate,  as  they 
would  put  it,  chose  out  one  of  the  family  to  belong  to 
the  god,  the  others  live  the  usual  life.  The  one  chosen 
has  adopted  several  little  children,  all  of  whom  have  now 
become  family  property.  They  will,  as  they  grow  up, 
call  their  adopted  mother,  "  Mother,"  her  relations  will 
be  aunts,  uncles,  cousins.  Thus  the  entanglement 
becomes  complete,  and  it  is  impossible  to  extricate  such 
a  child,  as  all  claim  it  equally,  and  it  believes  it  belongs 
to  all.  We  saw  four  babies  in  that  house.  "  My  child," 
or  "My  sister's  child,"  meaning  her  Temple-sister's,  said 
the  woman  we  knew,  when  we  asked  her  about  them. 
"  My  niece,"  said  the  httle  bride,  as,  tired  of  marriage 
solemnities,  she  relaxed  and  played  with  a  babe. 

We  looked  longingly  at  the  httle  things,  with  their 
innocent  eyes  and  soft  fat  hands  that  closed  round  one's 
finger  as  baby  hands  will.  If  only  we  could  have  drawn 
them  out,  just  as  they  were,  without  letting  go  !  It  was 
impossible. 

These  babes  grown  up  are  everywhere  still  more 
impossible  to  save.  They  are  too  deeply  involved  in  the 
life  to  which,  apart  from  all  choice  of  their  own,  they 
have  been  dehvered  by  hands  too  strong  to  resist.  We 
saw  one  such  a  week  ago.  We  were  led  to  her  by  a 
child   of   seven,  who   explained   in   detail   who   she   was. 


''Will  she  believe  it?"  245 

She  lives  alone  in  a  handsome  house,  two  storied,  tile- 
roofed.  Near  was  another  Temple  house,  full  to  the 
doors  with  mother,  daughters,  and  their  children.  That 
mother  had  told  me  wonderful  stories  about  a  Government 
rule  which  all  obeyed  :  "  No  child  may  be  married  now 
before  twelve  :  so  when  she  is  twelve  we  take  her  and 
say,  '  Will  you  be  married  to  god  or  man  ?  '  and  as  she 
says,  so  we  do."  Then  aside  to  the  Hstening  daughters, 
"  Will  she  beheve  it,  do  you  thuik  ?  " 

But  it  was  the  girl  in  the  house  alone  whose  face  and 
ways  will  not  be  forgotten.  She  was  beautiful,  and  very 
gentle.  Her  voice  was  low  and  she  spoke  with  refine- 
ment, using  choice  expressions  culled  from  books.  She 
had  been  reading  poetry  before  we  came.  The  book  was 
on  her  knee.  The  poetry  was  bad,  but  there  was  no 
hint  of  the  debased  in  the  quiet  face  and  manner.  If 
only  we  could  have  had  her  as  a  little  child  ! 

She  told  us  the  beginning  of  her  story.  Her  mother 
had  been  the  servant  of  a  famous  north-country  god. 
She  never  remembered  any  other  life.  She  was  "  married  " 
at  five — to  the  god.  "  There  is  pleasure,  a  kind  of 
pleasure  :  there  is  that  also  which  is  not  pleasure,"  she 
said  gravely,  but  with  no  wish  awakened  for  a  different 
life.  Pleasure  ;  for  no  orthodox  ceremony  of  importance 
is  complete  without  the  consecrating  presence  of  a  Servant 
of  the  gods  ;  nor  would  any  orthodox  Hindu  feel  other 
than  blessed  should  he  meet  such  a  one  at  the  beginning 
of  a  new  undertaking ;  the  omen  is  auspicious.  Not 
pleasure  ;  for  the  truer  feehng  of  the  people  shows  in 
many  little  ways.  The  Service  of  the  gods,  though  so 
honoured,  is    dishonoured,  and    the    sensitive    girl-heart, 


246  Background 

hardly  knowing  how  she  knows  it,  still  feels  it.  Such 
is  India,  inconsistent  with  her  higher  self,  creating  a 
system,  calUng  it  sacred,  at  her  best  ashamed  of  it,  yet 
perpetuating  it.  The  father  is  sick.  The  mother  vows 
as  her  choicest  gift  her  eldest  little  daughter,  should 
her  husband  recover.  The  father  agrees.  He  recovers. 
Together  they  take  the  httle  child  and  offer  her  to  the 
god.  The  priests  receive  her.  The  god  accepts.  No 
one  protests.  The  thing  is  religious,  meritorious.  Yet 
afterwards  no  father  who  had  not  done  this  thing  would 
like  his  little  daughter  to  be  mistaken  for  that  dedicated 
child.  Could  extreme  of  contradiction  find  more  direct 
expression  ?  What  has  been  done  is  good,  right — the 
best  that  could  be  done.  Its  result,  a  thing  despised, 
and  yet  a  thing  most  cherished.  In  certain  cases  such 
a  child  is  cruelly  handled  from  the  first,  but  not 
invariably.  Oftener  she  is  feted,  jewelled,  petted,  led 
in  her  wondering  innocence  through  ways  we  may  not 
trace,  formed  and  fashioned  day  by  day  till  all  the 
child  in  her  withers  and  dies.  Then  she  is  meet  for 
the  use  of  the  Hindu  ideal  of  God. 

Such  facts  gather  force  as  you  sit  by  the  side  of  a 
girl  whose  life  they  have  crossed.  V/e  had  to  leave  her 
as  we  found  her,  like  a  bird  with  its  wings  clipped, 
thrown  on  the  ground.  Only,  unbird-like,  she  did  not 
flutter  ;  she  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  dust. 

When  first  we  began  our  search  for  Temple  children, 
with  the  definite  intention  of  trying  to  save  them,  we 
wrote  to  the  only  two  missionaries  known  to  us  to  be 
conversant  with  the  facts  concerning  them.  We  found 
their   experience   talhed.     The   salvation   of   a   bond  fide 


The  Search  247 

Temple  child,  or  a  child  in  danger  of  being  appropriated 
by  Temple  people,  is  something  more  difficult  of  accom- 
plishment than  those  who  have  not  this  special  experi- 
ence would  readily  believe.  As  a  matter  of  fact  we 
had  to  buy  our  own  experience.  No  one  could  advise 
us  how  to  set  about  saving  the  children.  But  we  have 
had  all  possible  sympathy  from  fellow-missionaries,  and 
nothing  they  could  do  to  help  us  has  been  left  undone. 
A  few  extracts  from  letters  recently  received  may  be  of 
interest  here.     They  illustrate  the  search. 

"J.  (an  Indian  worker)  is  after  a  little  girl  of  about 
seven  years  old,  who  is  to  be  married  to  the  god  on  the 
27th.  He  is  very  keen  to  save  her,  but  there  are  many 
difficulties  in  the  way."  Shortly  afterwards  we  heard 
that  the  child  was  married.  Wedding  cards  were  issued 
as  for  an  ordinary  marriage.  We  did  not  hear  of  this  in 
time  to  secure  a  card,  which  if  obtained  would  have  been 
excellent  proof  of  the  fact  of  illegal  action.  Ceaseless 
efforts  have  been  made  for  over  a  year  to  save  this  child, 
but  in  vain. 

"  Last  Friday  I  heard  of  four  Httle  girls.  They  all 
belong  to  the  Temple.  Two  are  married  to  the  god  ;  two 
not.  The  married  children's  people  get  a  grant  of  sixty- 
two  quarts  of  rice  a  month  from  the  Temple.  There  are 
ten  children  in  this  Temple.  One  of  the  married  children 
is  just  six  years  old  (by  '  married '  is  meant  ceremonial 
marriage  to  the  stone  who  represents  the  god).  All 
these  ten  have  been  separately  sought,  but  their  guardians 
refuse  to  give  them  up.  We  consulted  a  lawyer,  but 
were  not  encouraged  to  do  anything.  The  required 
proof,   as  usual,   is  unobtainable  ;   and  we  should  have 


248  Background 

against  us  not  only  the  children's  own  parents,  but 
the  police  bribed  by  the  priests,  and  in  fact  the  whole 
population." 

"  The  family  is  very  rich.  The  mother  is  in  the  pro- 
fession. S.  is  such  a  dear,  pretty  little  thing.  There 
seems  no  hope  of  saving  her." 

"  I  saw  the  judge  about  the  baby  (going  to  be  devoted 
to  the  god).  He  said  nothing  could  be  done.  It  would 
be  impossible  to  get  sufficient  proof  of  the  mother's 
future  intentions." 

"  The  girl  is  in  the  Temple,  and  lost.  Her  brother 
did  not  want  her  to  go.  We  thought  we  might  get  her 
and  send  her  to  you,  particularly  as  she  herself  did  not 
want  to  go.  But  her  parents  were  too  strong  for  us. 
She  was  spirited  of!  at  night,  and  is  now  in  the  Temple. 
She  was  thirteen  years  of  age,  and  well-nigh  a  Christian." 
Later,  about  the  same  child  :  "  She  is  quite  changed. 
Nothing  can  be  done." 

"  P.  is  a  pretty,  fair  girl  of  about  nine,  a  pupil  in  our 
mission  school.  She  is  the  daughter  and  granddaughter 
of  Temple  women,  and  is  being  brought  up  to  the  same 
life.  G.  is  about  ten  years  of  age.  Her  mother  told 
us  she  had  married  all  her  daughters  as  they  grew  up 
except  G.,  who  was  to  go  to  the  Temple.  It  was  the 
custom  of  their  family  that  one  girl  should  be  so  devoted, 
and  they  must  do  as  their  elders  had  done."  -  Earnest 
efforts  have  been  made  to  save  these  children,  but  in 
vain. 

"  The  Httle  child  we  wrote  to  you  about  was  taken  to 
the  Temple  last  week.  We  went  and  inquired,  but  the 
people  in  the  street  said  they  knew  nothing  of  her  ;  and 


"Bare  in  Dreadfulness "  249 

beyond  tracing  her  to  the  Temple  we  have  been  able  to 
do  nothing.  We  have  not  seen  her  since  she  was  taken 
away ;  and  we  cannot  find  out  whether  she  is  still  in 
the  house  or  whether  she  has  been  sent  elsewhere.  The 
people  in  the  street  are  ready  to  swear  to  anything  the 
woman  who  has  adopted  the  child  tells  them  to  say." 

"Little  A.  was  sent  to  the  Temple.  We  have  just 
heard  of  her  death.  B.  ran  from  the  room  with  his 
hands  over  his  ears  to  shut  out  the  sound  of  her  cries." 
"So  did  his  cruelty  burn  life  about,  and  lay  the  ruin 
bare  in  dreadfulness."  Let  these  words  for  one  moment 
flame  out  that  story.     Then  let  it  drop  back  into  the 

night. 

"  He  (the  Secretary  of  the  Society  for  the  Protection 
of  Children  in  India,  with  headquarters  in  Calcutta)  is 
right  in  what  he  says  about  future  legislation  being 
needed.  But  I  don't  think  it  will  be  yet.  We  have 
not  the  men  to  enforce  it  if  it  were  passed,  at  present." 

These  extracts  are  chiefly  from  missionaries  of  difierent 
Societies  working  in  British  India  and  the  Southern 
Native  States.  The  last  quotation  is  from  an  Indian 
Civil  Servant.  Other  members  of  the  Service  have 
written  to  us  from  time  to  time  with  a  strength  of 
sympathy  for  which  we,  who  have  to  grapple  with  these 
facts,  are  very  grateful.  We  have  friends  in  the  Service 
upon  whom  we  can  count  for  any  help  within  their 
power.  Sometimes  we  feel  the  time  must  be  near  when 
something  more  will  be  done.  In  the  meantime  the 
children  of  this  generation  are  passing  in  through  those 
great  gates  that  open  inwards  and  then  shut. 


CHAPTEK  XXXI 
Warped  Land 

SO  far  the  Weight :    thank    God    there    is   the    Over- 
weight ;  more  than  an  Overweight  of  Joy. 
The    Spectator    had     something     to     do    with    its 
creation. 

One  day  a  small  girl  appeared  on  my  verandah.  "  I 
want  to  be  '  joined,'  "  she  remarked.  "  Joined  to  what  ?  " 
"  To  your  preaching  band,"  was  the  unexpected  answer, 
with  an  upward  turn  of  the  eyes  and  a  downward  droop 
of  the  mouth. 

We  found  she  had  a  Christian  relation,  though  her 
nearest  were  heathen.  Her  parents  were  dead.  Her 
heathen  relations  had  turned  her  adrift.  She  drifted  to 
her  Christian  relation,  who  forwarded  her  to  us.  We 
interviewed  these  affectionate  relatives,  and  found  them 
all  decided  in  refusing  her.  They  could  do  nothing  with 
her,  they  said.  She  was  nine,  and  apparently  naughty. 
Not  quite  a  case  for  the  band. 

There  were  reasons  which  made  us  hesitate  about 
adopting  her.  We  had  newly  come  to  Dohnavur  for  a 
year's  work,  and  were  anxious  not  to  do  anything  which 
would  give  colour  to  the  rumours  which  had  preceded  us, 
that  we   were   "  Catchers   of   children."     We  had  never 

250 


The  Spectator  251 

caught  any ;  we  had  only  sheltered  a  few  converts  who 
had  come  to  us  ;  but  facts  are  not  in  question  where 
such  stories  are  concerned.  Then,  too,  Ave  felt  the  rela- 
tions ought  to  do  their  obvious  duty.  We  were  puzzled 
about  ours.  In  the  meantime  the  little  girl  was  fed. 
She  was  given  a  doll,  at  which  she  stared  ungratefully. 
She  was  not  satisfied  with  her  food,  and  tried  to  steal 
other  people's.  She  was  altogether  deplorable.  After  a 
few  days'  experience  we  could  hardly  wonder  that  nobody 
wanted  her,  except  the  One  who  always  wants  the 
naughtiest  of  us. 

It  was  then  that  the  Spectator  came,  an  old  copy  which 
had  done  duty  in  several  mission  stations.  In  it  was  an 
article  about  Warping.  "  A  recent  writer  on  reclaiming 
land  from  the  sea  gives  £40  per  acre  as  the  cost  of 
making  Warp  land.  Warping  is  the  art  of  stealing  land 
from  the  waters.  Reclamation  is  forcible  rescue  by  build- 
ing a  bank  round  ground  already  rising  above  sea  level." 

£40  for  an  acre  of  sand  :  some  fancy  set  me  working 
out  how  much  for  an  acre  of  soul.  Suppose  we  did  every- 
thing for  this  child  for  ten  years,  according  to  the  then 
purchasing  power  of  the  rupee,  so  far  as  I  could  make 
out  the  cost  would  be  about  £35.  Allow  £5  for  con- 
tingencies.    It  came  to  £40. 

This  cold-blooded  calculation  may  shock  the  mind  which 
never  descends  to  the  mundane.  Do  not  mission  chil- 
dren subsist  upon  air  ?  (Indian  air  being  so  nourishing.) 
And  as  for  clothes,  in  the  Tropics  of  course  they  are  not 
required.  But  though  sooner  or  later  curry  and  rice  and 
raiment,  and  even  such  a  detail  as  education,  have  to  be 
considered,  I  cannot  say  that  at  that  moment,  or  ever 


252  Warped  Land 

after  in  any  case,  questions  affecting  provision  weighed 
in  the  very  least.  Our  Father  is  our  Treasurer.  All  we 
wanted  was  to  know  what  He  wanted  us  to  do.  The 
Warp  land  calculation  was  merely  a  freak  ;  its  result  a 
"  chance "  coincidence.  But  when  one  is  looking  for 
light  upon  anything  it  is  curious  to  notice  how  all  manner 
of  little  side-lights  bend  little  rays  upon  it,  till  the  way 
in  which  one  should  walk  is  all  lighted  up.  The 
S]jectator  suggested  thoughts  about  the  value  of  a  little 
sand  to  man.  From  this  we  passed  to  thoughts  about 
the  value  of  a  little  soul  to  God.  The  value  of  the 
sand  was  measurable :  £40  per  acre.  The  value  of  a 
single  little  soul,  in  one  sense  at  least,  was  measurable 
too  :  we  know  the  price  paid  down  to  reclaim  it.  The 
question  was  settled  that  afternoon.  And  often  since 
that  afternoon  the  Spectator  has  repeated  its  message  ; 
when  the  little  acre  of  soul  has  seemed  unpromising  we 
have  remembered  that  the  acre  of  sand  is  probably 
unpromising  at  first ;  and  the  thought  of  its  worth  to 
its  Owner  has  come  with  inspiration  over  and  over  again. 

Shortly  after  our  return  to  the  eastern  side  of  the 
district  the  little  Elf  was  brought  to  us.  Her  deliver- 
ance was  wonderful  enough  to  require  a  wonderful  ex- 
planation, and  the  firm  belief  of  our  people  is  that  the 
angel  who  delivered  Peter  had  something  to  do  with  it. 
In  all  ways  the  Elf  was  a  contrast  to  the  Imp,  as  No.  1 
was  too  easily  called.  She  was  very  much  wanted.  We 
never  felt  her  safe  till  we  had  settled  in  Dohnavur 
again. 

Soon  after  God  gave  us  the  Elf  He  moved  once  more 
for  the  salvation  of    children    in    similar    danger.     Two 


Lavana — the  Flower — shortly  after  she  came  to  us. 


Growing  Young  253 

little  girls,  whose  people  were  connected  with  Temple 
service,  became  members  of  our  family.  Deeper  and 
deeper  thereafter  we  found  ourselves  involved  in  what 
seems  hke  another  life-system  far  remote  from  our  own. 
Sometimes  the  children  have  to  be  redeemed  at  cost. 
Always  they  are  spoils  won  in  battle  between  the  strong 
man  armed  and  the  Stronger.  The  joy  is  that  they  are 
being  won. 

Another  joy  is  found  in  the  change  that  passes  upon 
them  after  they  are  won.  Sometimes  they  come  to  us 
looking  hke  httle  women-girls.  No  Hght  on  the  little 
faces,  no  natural  child-expression.  The  photographs 
which  illustrate  this  were  not  taken  for  that  purpose. 
Nor  are  they  perfect  as  illustrations,  for  the  little  girl 
shown  here  was  never  a  Temple  child.  The  strained,  too- 
old  expression,  was  the  result  of  the  extreme  severity 
exercised  by  the  child's  father,  a  man  of  powerful  will, 
who  had  beaten  down  resistance  in  his  sons,  and  deter- 
mined to  do  the  same  with  his  little  daughter.  But 
nevertheless  the  photo  shows  that  happy  thing,  the 
growing  younger  of  a  child  who  has  grown  too  old.  So 
we  let  it  tell  its  tale,  which  in  the  case  of  a  Temple 
child  is  far  more  emphasised,  for  even  the  most  unnatural 
Hindu  home  life  cannot  compare  for  unnaturalness  with 
the  life  lived  by  the  little  Temple  girl. 

There  was  one — I  wish  we  could  show  her  photo — 
who,  when  she  was  brought  to  us  a  baby  barely  two  years 
old,  was  more  like  a  trapped  wild  animal  than  a  little 
human  child.  She  had  changed  hands  four  times  within 
a  few  days.  She  was  old  enough  to  suffer  pitifully.  The 
little  face  with  its  terrified  eyes  told  us  that.     For  five 


254  Warped  Land 

days  tliat  little  child  moaned  and  cried  like  a  whipped 
puppy.  She  cried  even  in  her  sleep.  Once,  a  week 
after  she  came  to  us,  she  saw  a  woman  standing  at  the 
gate  with  a  child  in  her  arms.  It  must  have  wakened 
up  some  baby  memory,  for  in  a  moment  both  httle  arms 
went  out  in  wildest  entreaty,  and  the  child,  who  had 
never  spoken  to  us  in  articulate  words,  suddenly  cried, 
"  There  !  there  !  "  meaning  she  wanted  to  be  taken  there. 
And  she  sobbed  for  hom's  after  that,  over  and  over  and 
over  again,  till  we  were  heart-sick  at  the  sound,  the 
Tamil  baby  word  for  "  Mother  !  Mother  !  Mother  !  " 

That  poor  mother  had  refused  to  give  her  baby  to  the 
Temple  women  who  wanted  her.  Something  was  done 
to  force  her,  the  particulars  are  not  known,  but  she 
became  mad,  and  tried  to  drown  the  little  child.  Then 
while  she  slept  it  was  taken  from  her,  and  sent  off  to  a 
Travancore  Temple.  The  mother  is  wandering,  no  one 
knows  where,  quite  mad. 

This  little  child,  such  a  happy  child  now,  full  of  coax- 
ing little  ways  and  fmmy  broken  talk,  v/as  heard  the 
other  day  teaching  her  junior,  a  small,  very  fat,  curly- 
headed  little  tot,  to  repeat  the  few  English  words  she, 
little  Lotus,  knows  :  "  Deah  Loleypoley  !  say  '  'ittle  darr- 
ling  ! '" 

Sometimes  when  the  children  come  they  are  like  the 
ghosts  of  little  girls.  One,  who  is  now  a  sunny  little 
maid,  was  like  a  child  walking  in  her  sleep  for  a  whole 
month  after  her  arrival,  mitil  we  began  to  fear  for  her 
mind,  she  was  so  strange.  She  would  sit  for  hours 
without  moving,  dazed  and  absent.  She  rarely  spoke ; 
she   never    smiled.     She   was   a   four-year-old   Brahman 


Preena  and  Lavana— the  Elf  and  the  Flower— a  year  later. 


Little  Laughter  255 

child  from  the  Malabar  coast,  who,  so  far  as  we  could 
learn,  had  been  kidnapped  by  Temple  scouts,  and  brought 
over  to  our  side  of  the  mountains  for  sale.  Her  ears  had 
been  cut  to  disguise  her.  Her  little  body  had  been  burnt. 
The  cuts  and  the  burns  had  healed,  but  there  must 
have  been  some  inward  hurt,  and  it  was  still  unhealed. 
She  told  us  nothing,  never  has  told  us  anything  ;  we  hope 
she  has  forgotten  all.  To  this  day  we  can  only  guess 
what  the  shock  must  have  been  from  which  recovery  was 
so  slow.  It  came  at  last.  The  place  in  the  compound 
where  we  were  when  first  the  child-nature  woke  and 
laughed,  is  marked  by  one  of  those  bright  marks  memory 
makes  sometimes.  Leela — Lightsomeness,  Playfulness — 
is  her  name  now,  and  her  nursery  pet  name  is  Little 
Laughter. 

Lotus  and  Leela  are  helpful,  when  new  children  who 
look  hopeless  enough  to  discourage  the  most  sanguine  of 
us,  come.  After  our  experience  with  them  we  feel  we 
have  courage  for  anything.  Two  little  girls  were  brought 
to  us  lately  about  whom  we  should  have  naturally 
despaired.  But  who  could  despair  with  Leela  and  Lotus 
in  evidence  ?  Every  time  we  saw  them  at  play  we  felt 
cheered  in  hope  for  the  new  two. 

These  two  had  a  tragic  story.  Their  father  in  a  fit  of 
passion  killed  their  mother,  while  the  little  sisters  looked 
on  horrified.  They  fell  mto  bad  hands,  and  were  taken 
to  a  Temple  house.  Finally  they  were  brought  to  us. 
The  year  had  left  an  ugly  mark  upon  them.  The  ideal 
Temple  child  is  refined  in  manner  ;  that  passes  too  often 
as  the  years  pass,  but  the  child  at  first  is  an  attractive 
little  thing.     No  other  is  of  use.     She  is  usually  "  fair," 


256  Warped  Land 

as  the  word  goes  here,  anything  from  oHve  to  hazel-nut 
colour.  She  has  a  certain  manner  and  way  of  her  own, 
and  she  is  responsive  to  influence,  keen-brained,  bright. 
These  two  were  the  opposite  of  this.  They  were  coarsened 
little  beings,  inside  and  out.  They  were  extremely  dull. 
It  was  not  the  dulness  of  drugging,  as  in  Httle  Leela's 
case.  It  may  have  been  the  result  of  abnormally  severe 
treatment,  for  one  of  the  children  had  been  pinched 
through  the  skin  as  a  punishment,  and  the  other  had  been 
burnt  with  the  flat  side  of  a  knife  on  either  arm  ;  the 
marks  are  still  distinct.  Whatever  the  cause,  the  chil- 
dren were  most  miserable,  not  pathetic  or  interestingly 
sorrowful,  but  just  very  cross.  We  felt  incUned  to  call 
them  Mumps  and  Grumps,  but  instead  gave  them  names 
meaning  Pleasure  and  Friendliness.  I  overheard  a  scrap 
of  six  praying  by  herself  in  a  corner  :  "  Help  me  to  love 
the  two  new  httle  girls  just  as  if  they  were  nice."  This 
prayer  expressed  our  feelings.  Everything  is  different 
now.  Six  months'  persistent  anointing  with  cocoanut 
oil  had  a  most  smoothing  effect  on  the  roughened  exterior. 
An  equally  softening  inward  effect  was  produced  by  six 
months'  lavish  love  and  happiness.  It  is  an  effort  of 
memory  now  to  recall  the  time  when  the  two  httle  girls 
were  rude  and  glum  and  sulky,  and  almost  made  us  call 
them  Mumps  and  Grumps. 

The  dear  little  Firefly  flew  to  us  out  of  a  similar  back- 
ground of  darkness,  but  she  never  was  depressed.  The 
children  called  her  Firefly  from  the  first,  because  of  her 
lightness  and  brightness.  The  beginning  of  her  story 
was  written  in  sorrow  in  the  chapter  ^  whose  name 
^  Chapter  xi. 


Firefly,  thej^hild  standing,  is  fairly  characteristic.     The  little  wooden  image 
■^sitting  is  not  characteristic,  so  need  not  be  named. 


Our  first  Temple  Baby  257 

contains  a  prophecy — "  Tlie  Grace  of  the  People  to  come." 
It  did  not  seem  possible  then  that  she  could  be  delivered  : 
to-day  she  is  with  us,  an  Overweight  of  Joy. 

But  the  children  in  detail  would  weary  you,  perhaps. 
There  is  nothing  remarkable  about  them.  They  are 
chiefly  interesting  to  their  own,  to  whom  in  truth  they 
become  more  interesting  every  day. 

They  are  rejoicing  now  in  possessing  a  nursery  proper. 
For  some  time  they  were  all  cramped  up  in  a  room 
which  had  to  serve  for  kitchen,  dining,  and  bedroom.  Then 
friends, — fellow-missionaries,  chiefly, — sent  us  what  built 
a  fine  long  room  with  verandah  closing  on  either  end,  and 
this,  built  so  as  to  form  a  square  with  the  old  room  for  one 
side,  makes  a  perfect  nursery.  In  the  centre  is  a  court- 
yard garden,  with  a  tuhp  tree,  w^hich,  as  the  children 
firmly  believe,  God  caused  to  be  planted  on  purpose  for 
us  ;  and  flowers  and  creepers,  and,  above  all,  a  swing, 
make  this  courtyard  a  place  of  dehght. 

The  nursery  children  begin  with  the  babies.  The 
first  to  come  to  us  was  four  hours  old  when  she  was 
taken  to  the  Temple  woman's  house,  and  for  ten  days  she 
was  kept  there,  and  considered,  as  the  custom  is,  the 
daughter  of  the  Temple  woman  who  had  adopted  her. 
About  the  same  time  another  tiny  baby  was  adopted  by  a 
Temple  woman  known  to  us,  and  another  baby-girl  we 
had  traced  to  a  Temple  house  disappeared  before  we 
could  reach  her.  It  is  most  difficult  in  the  first  place  to 
trace,  and  in  the  second  place  to  prove  our  traces,  where 
these  babies  are  concerned.  Then,  too,  as  one  of  the 
letters  quoted  told,  there  are  cases  where  the  priest  of 
the  temple  to  which  the  child  is  eventually  to  belong, 
17 


258  Warped  Land      * 

supports  the  motlier  until  the  little  one  can  be  dedicated. 
So  that  every  possible  selfish  feeling  and  consideration  is 
ranged  against  us,  and  the  devil  fights  for  his  minute 
prey  as  if  each  unconscious  infant  were  a  little  queen. 
One  cannot  understand  it  till  one  remembers  that  if  only 
he  can  hold  on  for  the  next  few  years,  the  child  will 
become  not  only  doubly  his,  but  his  for  others'  destruction. 
Touch  a  Temple  child  and  you  touch  the  heart  of  the 
system  which  has  only  one  rival  in  all  the  world  for  its 
subjugating  power.     No  wonder  the  devil  fights. 

A  few  nights  before  that  baby  of  four  hours  old  was 
taken  to  the  temple,  one  of  our  pastors  and  an  evangeUst 
saw  for  the  first  time  what  we  have  so  often  seen, 
Temple  women  and  children  out  in  the  street  in  the 
evening.  The  sight  stirred  them,  and  later,  when  the 
pastor  heard  of  that  baby,  it  moved  him  to  try  to  save 
it.  He  worked  hard  and  he  prayed,  and  this  child,  the 
only  one  of  the  three,  was  saved. 

We  shall  never  forget  the  night  she  came  :  the  little, 
old,  tired  baby  face,  the  httle,  feeble,  weary  cry,  the  httle 
hands  moving  restlessly  as  if  feeling  for  a  mother,  none 
of  us  ever  forget.  She  had  travelled  over  a  hundred 
miles,  and  she  almost  died  on  my  knee  that  night ;  but 
we  did  not  know  then  how  much  she  had  been  hurt,  and 
we  hardly  understood  what  we  had  undertaken.  The 
experienced  say  she  cannot  live  to  grow  up,  but  her 
smiles  "  cool  our  hearts,"  and  we  hope  much  for  her. 

"  What  is  she  to  be  called,  our  very  first  Temple 
baby  ?  "  This  important  question  came  from  all  the 
children  at  once.  The  Elf  ran  off  for  her  "  gee-lit  Bible," 
turned  the  pages  hurriedly,  found  a  verse  and  read  it ; 


■■^^"^  jHow  we  cradle  our  babieft 


Amethyst,  Sapphire,  Sunflower        2  59 

''  '  The  foundations  of  the  wall  of  the  city  were  garnished 
with  all  manner  of  precious  stones.'  This  is  the  stone  I 
like  '  The  twelfth  an  Amethyst.''    She  was  going  to  be   a 

stone     in    Satan's   city    wall,    and   now "     The   Elf 

stopped  and  looked  tentatively  at  me.  We  all  thought  it 
would  do.  So  our  first  Temple  baby  is  called  Amethyst. 
When  the  second  came,  the  lovely  laughing  Rajput 
baby,  saved  by  another  pastor,  the  jewel  verse  was  re- 
ferred to  again  :  "  The  second  a  Sapphire.^^  The  name 
expresses  the  little  one.  There  is  the  unclouded  serenity 
as  of  deep  blue  skies  about  her.  Indraneela  (Sapphire), 
she  is  the  joy  of  our  hearts,  such  a  whole    round    gift 

of  joy- 

Then  came  baby  No.  3,  terribly  injured,  whose 
wails  at  first  were  ceaseless.  But  a  few  months'  care 
worked  a  change  that  was  good  to  see.  Little  Sun- 
flower we  call  her,  in  faith  that  her  life  will  be  full  of 
sunshine,  in  spite  of  its  dark  beginning.  These  three 
make  the  nursery  the  centre  of  things  interesting,  and 
I  think  we  all  have  felt  the  fascination  of  the  little 
loving  things  who  ask  for  so  much,  get  more  than  they 
ask,  and  give  more  so  unconsciously. 


CHAPTEK  XXXII 
The  Children's  Hour 

TORRENCE,  the  American  poet,  in  verses  entitled 
"  The  Conclusion  of  the  Whole  Matter,"  thus  sums 
things  up  : 

"  In  this  rough  field  of  earthly  life 

I  have  reaped  cause  for  tears  enough  ; 
Yet  after  all  I  think  I've  gleaned 
My  modicum  of  laughing  stuff." 

Those  of  us  who  are  allowed  to  live  sometimes  in  the 
children's  world  find  plenty  of  laughing  stuff  there. 
Only  it  is  not  the  sort  of  stuff  which  can  be  packed 
up  and  sent  anywhere. 

From  five  o'clock  till  sunset  is  the  children's  hour. 
Their  playground  lies  to  the  west,  with  the  mountains 
in  view,  and  a  great  expanse  of  sky.  Here  the  happy 
little  people  play  to  their  heart's  content ;  and,  as  a 
grateful  small  girl  put  it,  "  Nobody  says  '  Be  quiet.'  " 

Sometimes,  but  rarely,  they  are  quiet.  "  Hush " 
(literally  Breathe  not !)  :  "we  have  found  a  little  birdling, 
and  it  is  so  homesick  !  "  This  quiets  everybody  ;  there 
is  an  eager  crowding  round  the  fortunate  finder,  and 
a  dozen  little  hands  are  stretched  out  to  stroke  the 
"  homesick "    httle   bird.     Sick  birds   and   strayed   birds 

260 


/ 


Rukma— Radiance— is  the  tall  girl,  saved  just  in  time.     Preeya— Beloved— i 
going  to  put  the  berries  round  her  neck. 


The  Playground  261 

are  our  most  usual  pets.  We  have  not  tlie  heart  to 
shut  up  wild  things  in  cages,  except  when  they  are 
invahded  or  too  young  to  fend  for  themselves.  When 
they  are  considered  well  enough  or  old  enough  to  be 
set  at  liberty,  there  is  general  jubilation.  But,  alas  ! 
the  httle  sunbird  that  has  licked  honey  for  a  fortnight 
from  affectionate  fingers  is  apt  to  acquire  too  trustful 
a  disposition  for  life  in  a  world  infested  by  hard  pressed 
pariah  dogs.  "  The  babies  are  our  longest  lasting  pets," 
one  small  mourner  was  heard  confiding  to  another  after 
the  tragic  deaths  of  several  little  favourites ;  "I  am 
glad  there  is  no  wild  beast  that  wants  to  eat  them  up." 
Animals  would  be  much  to  the  fore  if  only  we  could 
suitably  have  them.  "  When  I  am  grown  up,"  said 
one,  undaunted  by  accidents,  "  I  shall  have  twenty  dogs 
and  twenty  cats,  and  they  shall  play  with  each  other." 
Ten  minutes  after  she  had  made  this  announcement  I 
found  her  chuckling  to  herself,  as  with  a  child's  vivid 
imagination  she  surveyed  the  diverting  prospect. 

In  India  we  have  various  round  games,  graceful 
and  quaint  in  their  way,  but  these  grow  monotonous, 
and  then  romps  are  the  order  of  the  day.  Rukma 
(Radiance)  is  a  born  mimic,  and  as  Indian  Hfe  lends 
itself  to  caricature  she  has  a  fair  field  for  her  activi- 
ties. Games  are  devised  which  would  puzzle  a  Western. 
One  of  these  includes  an  elephant  made  of  slatey-blue 
raiment  and  children  fastened  together.  This  creature, 
with  a  bell,  which  tinkles  in  an  agitated  manner 
at  every  step,  hung  round  its  neck,  stalks  about  the 
playground,  waving  his  trunk  hungrily  in  the  direction 
of  the  younger  juveniles,  who  never  tire  of  the  charming 


262  The  Children's  Hour 

horror  of  it.  The  joy  of  being  allowed  to  shriek  as  the 
alarming  shape  approaches  never  seems  to  pall.  "  For 
when  you  make  a  very  tremendous  noise,  you  get  a 
lovely  fearful  feeling,"  was  the  lucid  explanation  offered 
for  the  delirious  rout. 

Occasionally  the  dolls,  who  for  the  most  part  live  in 
boxes,  are  produced  and  hung  in  cradles  swung  from 
the  trees.  The  effect  of  a  dozen  or  so  of  these  little 
hammocks,  made  of  bits  over  from  their  own  little 
garments,  is  very  comical.  Houses  are  arranged  for 
the  sleepers,  to  be  ready  when  they  wake.  These 
houses  follow  the  bungalow  type.  There  is  a  central 
room  "  for  food  and  meetings,"  and  two  bedrooms,  one 
on  each  side.  There  is  a  verandah,  with  steps,  and  a 
curl  meant  for  decorative  architecture  finishes  either 
side  of  the  steps.  The  kitchen,  Indian  fashion,  is  at  a 
Httle  distance.  As  all  this  is  made  of  mud,  patted  into 
shape,  on  the  raised  model  plan,  with  very  low  walls 
and  spaces  for  doors,  you  may  easily  make  a  mistake 
and  overlook  the  walls  when  invited  to  pay  a  visit. 
Nothing  more  offends  the  general  sense  of  propriety. 
"  You  have  stepped  over  the  wall.  That  is  wall.  The 
door  is  on  the  other  side.     Please  come  in  by  the  door." 

Grown-up  people,  though  so  stupid,  have  some 
redeeming  features.  It  is  they  who  give  the  dolls. 
Also  they  kindly  mend  them  when,  as  often  happens, 
limbs  come  off.  Here,  judging  by  previous  experience, 
one  would  expect  a  great  display  of  sympathy  with  the 
sorely  injured  treasure.  There  is  nothing  of  the  sort. 
Strong  common  sense  comes  to  the  rescue,  and  the  most 
heroic    operative    measures    are    regarded    with    perfect 


"Is    SHE    A    DIFFERENT    SpECIES  ?  "  263 

equanimity.  The  maternal  mind  thus  disengaged  has 
time  to  moralise.  "  Are  you  mending  my  doll's  leg  to 
the  glory  of  God  ?  "  was  a  question  put  to  Mrs.  Walker 
one  day,  when,  seeing  a  better  way  to  repair  the  damage, 
she  unpicked  her  first  attempt  and  began  again.  I  was 
told  about  it  afterwards  :  "  The  Ammal  did  it  beautifully 
at  first.  I  would  not  have  unpicked  it.  I  think  she 
must  truly  have  been  mending  my  doll's  leg  to  the 
glory  of  God." 

There  is  a  feehng  among  white  people  that  brown 
people  always  admire  them.  This  is  a  delusion.  They 
do  admire  our  colour,  and  an  ivory-skinned  child  will  be 
described  as  "  like  a  white  person's  child,"  but  they  do 
not  always  admire  our  behaviour,  and  they  are  extremely 
observant.  "  Is  she  a  different  species  ?  "  was  the  ques- 
tion suggested  by  close  observation  of  a  lady  in  the  train 
whose  travelling  manners  were  not  of  the  finest.  "  She 
is  not  like  the  Ammals  I  know,"  and  an  extensive  Hst  was 
enumerated.  "  Is  she  a  real  Ammal,  or  is  she  a  different 
species  ?  " 

Anything  Hke  condescension  is  at  once  detected  and 
severely  criticised.  "  Oh  yes,  perhaps  she  is  very  nice. 
But  she  looked  so  " — and  an  all  too  faithful  reproduction 
of  the  air  of  languid  interest,  or  distant  kindness,  follows. 
"  Now  So-and-so,"  naming  another  visitor,  "  was  different. 
She  is  our  friend.  Amma,  what  made  the  difference  at 
the  first  ?  " — a  question  striking  at  the  difiicult  root  of 
things.  But  the  Indian  mind,  though  critical  enough,  is 
very  charitable.  "  Perhaps  she  couldn't  help  being  so, 
being  made  so  "  ;  this  being  a  kindly  conclusion,  satisfied 
everybody. 


264  The  Children's  Hour 

New  light  on  old  texts  might  be  the  safe  and  sober 
title  to  a  chapterful  of  sundries.  "  Do  you  know  about 
the  devil's  beginning  ?  "  This  was  Leela  to  the  Firefly, 
whose  eager  "  Tell  me,  Leela  !  "  started  Leela  at  a  trot. 
The  idea  behind  the  story  poured  forth  was  evidently  a 
Tamil  reception,  such  as  occurs  on  New  Year's  Day  and 
other  special  occasions,  when  chairs  are  placed  for  us,  and 
v/e  have  to  sit  and  be  feted.  The  chief  entertainment  is 
singing.  The  village,  or  as  much  of  it  as  can  find  room, 
swarms  in  round  us,  and  sings  vigorously.  The  children 
contrive  to  squeeze  themselves  beside  us  between  the 
chairs,  or  to  climb  into  our  laps,  and  so  receive  the 
reflected  glory  of  the  feting.  Sometimes  we  have  as 
many  as  a  dozen  such  receptions  in  one  day,  for  outside 
villages  come  in  turn.  Such  days,  the  children  would 
tell  you,  are  very  glorious. 

''  In  the  beginning,"  began  Leela  in  unctuous  tones, 
"  the  bad  devil  was  good.  He  was  an  angel.  He  lived 
in  heaven.  One  day  all  the  angels  came  to  sing  to  God. 
Then  the  devil  was  angry.  He  got  angrier  and  angrier. 
He  was  very  rude  to  God."  Here  Leela  seemed  to  freeze 
all  over,  and  her  voice  sounded  quite  deep  and  awful. 
Irreverence  was  far  from  her  intention.  "  That  bad,  bad 
devil  said  :  '  I  won't  stand  before  God's  chair  any  more, 
and  I  won't  sing  to  God  any  more.  /  want  to  sit  in  God^s 
chair,  and  make  God  sing  to  me  .f  ^^  There  was  a  perfectly 
horrified  pause,  as  the  enormity  of  the  transgression 
became  evident.  "  So  God  took  him,  and  tumbled  him 
down  out  of  heaven,  and  he  was  turned  into  the  devil." 

There  was  another  solemn  pause,  then  Leela  con- 
tinued cheerfully,  "  And  we  each  have  a  little  devil ;  he 


Lola  and  Lela.     Lola  faces  to  the  left.     They  upset  eacli  others 
gra\-ity,  and  were  difl&eult  to  catch. 


"So  He  gives  us  both"  265 

says,  '  Tell  lies,  steal,  be  cross.'  And  we  each  have  a 
little  Angel ;  he  says,  '  Don't  tell  lies,  don't  steal,  don't 
be  cross.'  That  devil  is  a  nasty  Httle  devil."  "  Which 
is  more  necessary,"  inquired  the  practical  Firefly  of  the 
Elf  who  just  then  appeared,  "  our  httle  Angel,  or  our 
Ammal  ?  "  ("  mother  ").  "  Well,"  returned  the  Elf 
impartially,  "  I  think  both  are  necessary.  Our  httle 
Angel  is  very  important ;  he  looks  at  God's  face  for  us. 
But  then  Jesus  knows  we  couldn't  do  without  a  mother. 
So  He  gives  us  both."  There  was  a  vehement  raid  upon 
me,  and  the  book  which  was  considered  too  absorbing 
was  triumphantly  carried  off.  "  It  was  nice  and  kind  of 
Jesus,"  said  little  Leela  in  cooing  tones  ;  "  when  I  see 
Him  I  will  run  up  to  Him  fast,  and  give  Him  hugs  and 
kisses."  "  But  He  is  God,"  said  one  of  the  small  elders 
soberly.  "  But  He  is  our  Lord  Jesus  too,"  said  another 
quickly,  feehng  for  Leela^  whose  loving  little  heart  had 
meant  nothing  wrong.  Leela  looked  grateful,  and  after- 
wards confided  that  she  always  gave  Him  kisses  in  her 
prayers.  Then  from  these  heights  there  was  a  sudden 
drop.  "  I  want  to  see  the  bad  devil  a  corjose,^^  said  the 
Firefly,  with  startling  energy. 

Lola  to  Leela,  on  the  institution  of  the  Sabbath,  was 
as  follows  :  "  And  it  was  Friday,  and  God  finished  making 
everything,  and  He  was  tired.  So  He  made  Saturday 
into  a  resting-day ;  and  it  was  Sunday.  But  a  long 
time  afterwards  it  was  changed.  For  Jesus  was  very,  very 
tired.  He  had  been  hurt  so  dreadfully,  that  was  why 
He  was  tired ;  and  it  was  Friday.  And  He  rested  in  a 
cave  on  Saturday,  which  was  Sunday.  And  then  on  the 
next  day  He  got  up.     And  He  changed  that  day  into 


266  The  Children's  Hour 

Sunday.  And  I  think  it  was  because  He  wanted  another 
day  for  resting,  because  He  was  so  very,  very  tired.  So 
that  day  is  our  Sunday  now."  Lola  is  a  frivolous  young 
person,  wholly  bent  on  the  things  of  this  life,  but  there 
was  a  note  of  sympathy  in  her  voice  as  she  mentioned 
the  tiredness  of  Jesus  ;  and  Leela,  who  is  a  tender  little 
soul,  felt  it  at  once,  and  her  eyes  filled.  She  was  not 
comforted  till  I  had  told  the  story  over  again,  somewhat 
otherwise.  I  wonder  if  the  same  thought  has  struck 
other  children  ;  the  day  of  rest  was  changed  because  our 
Lord  needed  a  second  day's  rest. 

A  Bible  class  in  which  room  is  given  for  questions 
and  remarks  is  a  very  fruitful  field.  You  feel  the  richer 
for  an  experience  such  as  I  had  to-day  over  the  first  few 
verses  of  Genesis. 

The  light  of  the  first  day  was  made  by  the  shining  of 
God's  face.  This  is  evident,  for  the  sun  was  not  created 
then.  The  third  day's  work  suggested  tails.  I  had 
been  explaining  about  the  change  of  the  great  forest 
trees  into  coal,  now  dug  out  of  mines.  "  That's  where 
the  people  live  who  have  tails,"  was  the  staggering 
interposition.  I  found  they  all  shared  the  idea.  Under 
the  earth  is  a  great  hole,  and  the  people  who  Hve  there 
cultivate  tails.  As  for  the  fourth  day's  work,  as  every 
town  and  village  in  the  world  requires  its  own  sun  and 
moon  and  stars,  a  complete  sky  system  all  to  itself,  that 
day  must  have  been  a  very  busy  day.  This  was  an 
equally  general  idea.  How  else  could  it  be  explained 
that  the  sun  rises  at  different  times  in  different  places  ? 
Of  course  it  is  a  different  sun.  When  the  fact,  or  as 
much   of  it  as  their   small  minds  could  grasp,   dawned 


How  Rain  is  made  267 

upon  the  children,  their  astonishment  was  interesting. 
They  looked  at  one  another,  counted  up  the  different 
villages  represented  :  "  One  sun  to  all  these  !  What  a 
big  sun  it  must  be  !  " 

Rain  is  made  by  the  angels  :  this  was  the  last  con- 
tribution to  science.  There  is  a  great  big  well  in 
Heaven,  and  when  the  angels  see  that  the  flowers  of  the 
world  are  thirsty,  they  go  to  the  well  and  draw  much 
water  and  pour  it  down.  I  expected  the  little  voice 
would  continue  that  the  flowers,  refreshed,  looked  up 
and  thanked  the  angels,  but  it  stopped  short  of  this 
pretty  conclusion,  and  added  with  deeper  feeling  :  "  Then 
the  angels  are  all  very  happy  because  they  are  helping 
God." 

But  the  time  of  all  times  to  get  into  the  very  inside 
mind  of  an  Indian  child  is  in  the  wonderful  sunset 
hour  when  all  Nature  breathes  softly,  and  just  a  little 
later,  when  the  stars  come  out.  Sometimes  one  gets 
shocks.  I  had  always  thought  children  heard  God's 
voice  in  the  thunder  and  were  awed.  Not  at  all.  "  The 
clouds  are  quarrelling.  If  they  don't  take  care  they'll 
spill,"  was  the  painfully  practical  remark  that  blew  the 
dust  from  my  eyes.  So  even  in  the  silent  glory  of 
sunset,  and  even  under  the  solemn  stars,  one  must  be 
prepared  for  prose  as  well  as  poetry. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

Green  Clouds  and  the  Lamps  of  God's 
Village 

YOU  stopped  so  long  to  look  at  that !  "  said  a  boy 
to  me  one  day.  It  was  in  a  lane  arclied  with 
palm.  There  was  a  well  on  one  side,  in  an 
open  space,  fenced  in  by  rough  reed  work.  On  the 
reeds  in  the  sunshine  sat  a  pair  of  kingfishers.  The 
flash  of  blue  on  the  brown  in  the  sunshine  by  the  old 
grey-walled  well  is  a  joy  just  to  remember.  But  my 
stopping  to  look  at  it  was  something  quite  out  of  reach 
of  the  boy,  who  stood  in  the  shadow  side  under  the 
palms. 

This  is  what  most  of  our  children  are  like  when  first 
they  come  to  us ;  but  very  soon  they  begin  to  care  for 
the  lovely  and  curious  strewn  so  lavishly  over  the  plain 
of  South  Indian  life.  Often  now  an  excited  httle 
creature  comes  flying  in,  impetuous,  full  of  some  new 
discovery.  Once  it  was  a  beetle  rolHng  a  ball  much 
bigger  than  himself  to  a  hiding-place  under  a  tree. 
The  children  wanted  to  help  the  beetle,  and  they  made 
a  smooth  track  for  him  ;  but  he  obstinately  persisted  in 
kicking  it  by  the  rough  way  of  his  choice.  Once  it 
was  a  weed,  as  we  disrespectfully  call  our  flower  guests 


Green  Clouds  269 

who  come  without  being  invited.  "  It  has  thirteen 
different  colours,  not  counting  the  stalk."  Once  it  was 
a  praying  mantis,  whose  devotional  manners  charmed  the 
whole  community,  and  suggested  any  number  of  moral 
reflections.  Often  it  is  a  new  mimic  insect,  like  a  straw, 
or  a  leaf,  or  a  bit  of  bark.     Once  it  was  green  clouds. 

"  Green  clouds  !  Oh,  you  httle  green  girl !  "  I  said 
not  in  the  least  believing.  But  the  earnest,  "  Indeed, 
they  are  green,"  and  the  tugging  little  hands  prevailed. 
The  clouds  were  really  green  ;  a  sort  of  undefined  sea- 
green,  like  the  colour  of  a  wave  before  it  rolls  over,  just 
as  the  crest  curls  ready  to  break.  They  were  lighted 
with  lemon  colour  towards  the  under  edge,  and  darkened 
into  grey  above,  and  they  were  floating  in  violet  air. 
Then  through  that  pure  violet  the  sickle  of  the  new 
moon  curved,  sharp  against  its  transparency.  Jupiter, 
at  some  seasons  very  large  and  brilliant  here,  shone 
above  the  moon  ;  and  the  httle  filmy  cloudlets  swept 
across  it,  making  halos  as  they  passed. 

The  splendour  and  the  silence  of  the  movement  held 
us  still.  I  think  we  both  felt  we  might  miss  something 
if  we  spoke.'  Slowly  the  lemon  light  faded  ;  the  cloud 
colours  melted  into  a  blue  that  was  almost  electric. 
Every  moment  the  moon  cut  clearer,  and  the  silver  of 
the  planet  grew  -more  radiant.  And  the  little  halos 
flying  round  it  were  like  rainbows  caught  and  twisted 
into  rings. 

At  last  the  child  spoke,  her  brown  eyes  fixed  wist- 
fully on  the  fading  glory  of  the  sky.  "  I  thought  He 
was  coming  back,"  she  said.  Then  I  found  she  had 
fancied  to  herself  that  our  Lord  went  home  on  a  sunset 


270  Green  Clouds  and  Lamps 

cloud,  pink  and  soft  and  beautiful,  with  gold  from  the 
inside  shining  through.  "  And  whenever  the  clouds  are 
just  like  that,  I  look  to  see  if  He  is  not  there.  And  I 
have  looked  so  often,  and  He  hasn't  come  yet."  But 
other  Httle  voices  broke  in  upon  us — "  What  is  the  sky 
made  of  ?  Is  it  a  real  roof  ?  Look  at  the  big  star ! 
Oh,  it  is  runnuuf !  \^Tiere  is  it  running  to  ?  Why  has 
it  got  a  coloured  crown  ?  " 

In  the  warm  South  land  the  spirit  of  the  moonlight 
and  the  starlight  need  not  be  shut  out  unkindly.  We 
sit  outside  with  it,  and  sleep  outside  beside  it.  The 
toil  and  the  littleness  of  the  day  pass  out  of  memory 
in  that  large  calm,  as  the  heat  that  has  passed  is 
forgotten  in  the  cool.  The  juniors  generally  go  to  bed 
early,  but  sometimes  they  break  bounds  and  sit  on  the 
sand  in  the  courtyard,  in  the  starshine,  very  wide  awake. 
Then,  if  you  happen  to  be  conveniently  exhausted  and 
unfit  for  conversation,  the  compassionate  children  will 
leave  you  in  peace  and  forget  your  near  existence.  You 
have  the  chance  then,  if  you  care  to  take  it,  to  drop 
for  awhile  into  the  world  that  is  never  far  away,  though 
we  so  seldom  seem  to  find  the  httle  bypath  into  it. 

"  I  want  to  string  all  the  stars  together  on  a  thread 
and  make  a  necklace."  This  was  Lola.  "  You  can't," 
said  the  Firefly,  scandahsed.  "  They  aren't  yours." 
"  Whose  are  they  ?  "  Lola  sounded  defiant.  "  They're 
God's.  They're  the  lamps  of  God's  village."  "Where 
is  God's  village  ?  "  "  Up  there."  "  What  is  it  caUed  ?  " 
"  It's  Heaven,  of  course."  "  And  it's  up  there  ?  "  Lola 
pointed  up  with  one  fat  forefinger,  and  looked  search- 
ingly    at    the    Firefly,   who    answered    with    confidence, 


How  DOES  God's  Village  stay  up?      271 

"  Yes,  up  there  ;  high  up."  Then  Lola,  who  at  the  date 
of  this  story  was  considerably  younger  than  when  she 
instructed  Leela,  as  already  narrated,  gathered  herself 
together  and  demanded,  "  How  does  it  stay  up  ?  " 

This  was  disconcerting.  The  Firefly,  at  that  time 
also  a  recent  arrival,  realised  her  limitations.  Only  a 
few  days  previously  she  had  been  as  puzzled  as  Lola 
over  a  similar  problem.  We  were  at  the  Harvest 
Festival.  The  people  were  bringing  offerings  of  sacks  of 
rice,  huge  baskets  of  solidified  brown  sugar,  many  fowls, 
and  some  goats.  The  Firefly  was  enjoying  it  thoroughly 
till  a  question  smote  her.  "  Wlio  are  all  the  things 
for  ?  "  Surprised,  we  told  her  they  were  for  God. 
"  But  I  thought  He  lived  in  Heaven.  How  are  they 
going  to  get  the  things  there  ?  "  So,  feeling  unequal  to 
clear  explanation  as  to  how  God's  village  stayed  up,  the 
Firefly  appealed  to  the  Mouse,  who  honestly  answered 
that  she  did  not  know,  and  was  proceeding  to  expatiate 
upon  the  spiritual  joys  of  the  better  world,  when  Lola 
interrupted  anxiously,  "  What  do  the  people  in  God's 
village  have  to  eat  ?  " 

The  Mouse,  unlike  the  Imp  of  old,  is  nine,  and  good. 
She  cuddled  Lola  in  her  arms,  and  explained  that  she 
was  rather  young  to  understand  all  about  Heaven. 
Even  she,  the  elderly  Mouse,  did  not  imderstand  every- 
thing. But  one  thing  was  perfectly  clear  :  Heaven  was  a 
beautiful  lovely  place  like  a  beautiful  lovely  garden.  Lola 
wagged  her  head  approvingly.  "  Are  there  plantains  ?  " 
(bananas).  The  Mouse  was  not  sure.  There  is  a  tree,  and 
twelve  different  kinds  of  fruit  grow  on  it — a  gasp  of  joy 
from  Lola.     And  every  month  the  fruit  ripens — another 


272  Green  Clouds  and  Lamps 

gasp  from  Lola.  And  the  wall  all  round  God's  village 
shines,  and  the  gates  are  made  of  big  glistening  pearls, 
and  the  village  streets  are  gold.  "  What  are  the  plates 
made  of  ?  "  was  Lola's  next,  interjected  as  soon  as  she 
could  find  room.  "  And  is  the  rice  always  hot  ?  And 
how  many  kinds  of  curry  ?  " 

Lola's  unchristian  greed  distressed  the  Mouse.  "  You 
shouldn't  be  always  thinking  about  your  food-bag,  Lola," 
she  said  with  some  severity.  "  Will  it  be  hot  ?  "  once 
more  interposed  the  irreverent  child.  The  other  children 
were  listening  rather  keenly.  In  the  monsoon  season 
they  have  hot  rice  twice  a  day.  At  other  times  only 
once.  The  other  meals  consist  of  cold  rice  with  con- 
diment. Hot  rice  always,  with  an  appropriate  variety 
of  curry,  would  be  bhss  indeed.  The  Mouse  hesitated. 
"  I  think  if  there  is  rice  in  Heaven  it  will  be  always  hot. 
And  I  think  if  there  is  curry,  there  will  be  a  great  many 
kinds.  But  it  isn't  in  the  Bible,  and  I  don't  know.  As 
for  the  plates,"  she  added  in  a  more  decided  tone,  "it  is 
very  silly  to  ask  about  them  at  all.  Who  can  tell  what 
they  are  made  of  ?  "  Nobody  ventured  a  guess.  Their 
vocabulary's  top  word,  gold,  having  been  already  requisi- 
tioned to  describe  the  mere  streets,  what  word  was  left  to 
describe  the  plates,  which  must  be  unspeakably  superb  ! 

But  the  Mouse  was  uncomfortable  upon  these  lower 
levels,  and  she  made  a  strenuous  effort  to  drag  the  un- 
willing Lola  up  :  "  Listen,  Lola  !  "  she  said,  and  gave  that 
plump  person  a  shake.  "  Jesus,  our  own  Lord  Jesus,  will 
be  there,  and  we  shall  see  Him,  and  He  will  smile  upon 
us,  and  that  will  make  Heaven's  sunshine.  And  God 
will  stroke  our  faces — so — to  take  away  all   the   marks 


What  sort  of  Wings?  273 

of  crying  from  our  faces.  And  nobody  will  have  fever, 
and  we  shall  never  have  to  go  to  bed.  And  there  is  a 
beautiful  river."  "  How  do  we  get  there  ?  Are  there 
steps  ?  "  inquired  Lola,  much  impressed  by  this  jumble. 
"  No  ;  Jesus  comes  and  carries  us  up.  Or  the  angels 
come  :  that's  what  happened  to  a  poor  sick  man  Jesus 
tells  us  about ;  and  that's  what  people  call  dying.  Or 
else  Jesus  will  come  for  everybody  all  at  once,  and  we 
won't  die,  we  will  all  rise  quickly,  and  fly  and  fly  straight 
up  to  Him,  up  and  up  !  "  "  Shall  we  have  wings  ? 
What  sort  of  wings  ?  "  Lola  was  quite  stirred.  The 
children  have  not  been  brought  up  upon  pictures,  and  so 
have  not  interpolated  the  idea  of  wings  into  the  Bible 
narrative.  But  then,  the  act  of  flying  is  intimately 
connected  with  wings.  There  was  a  moment's  entangle- 
ment of  talk,  out  of  which  the  voice  of  the  very  sane 
Mouse  emerged  :  "  How  would  wings  be  fastened  on  ?  I 
don't  think  we  shall  have  wings.  It  says  nothing  about 
them  in  the  Bible."  "  If  the  angels  who  came  down  to 
the  world  had  had  wings,"  remarked  another  sagely, 
"  people  wouldn't  have  mistaken  them  for  common 
people.  But  they  could  fly  all  right."  "  And  Jesus 
hadn't  wings,  but  He  flew  up  into  the  cloud,"  said 
another  and  more  decided  voice.  "  So  wings  aren't 
necessary."  But  Lola  seemed  disappointed.  She  wanted 
wings  ;  white  ducks'  wings. 

Later  the  conversation  turned  to  the  Parable  of  the 
Rich  Man  and  Lazarus,  which  fascinates  Eastern  children, 
to  whom  the  dramatic  appeals.  The  picture  of  Lazarus 
sitting  happily  on  Abraham's  lap,  as  the  Tamil  puts  it, 
had  captivated  them,  and  they  considered  gravely  upon 
i8 


274  Green  Clouds  and  Lamps 

whose  lap  they  would  choose  to  sit,  "  not  countmg  our 
Lord  Jesus,  for  of  course  we  would  all  choose  His." 
One  chose  Elijah's,  because  he  was  so  brave.  Another, 
Abraham's.  ''  You  can't ;  Lazarus  has  it,"  was  crushing. 
Another  chose  John's,  because  he  was  a  loving  man. 
The  Elf  chose  Ignatius,  because  he  was  a  martyr.  But 
the  Firefly  would  have  none  of  these.  ''I'm  not  going 
to  not  choose  Jesus,"  she  said  sturdily,  "  He's  the  only 
One  I  know  in  Heaven."  ''  Everybody  will  want  His," 
somebody  objected.  The  Firefly  gave  my  hand  a 
squeeze  :  "  Won't  He  keep  just  a  little  room  for  me  ?  " 

The  frankly  realistic  way  these  children  deal  with 
the  unseen  may  rather  startle  some,  and  their 
strong  religious  and  Biblical  bent  may  perplex  others. 
There  is  nothing  perplexing  in  it.  India  is  naturally 
devout ;  the  Bible  is  the  children's  favourite  story-book : 
these  two  facts  explain  much.  We  have  not  many  good 
story-books  in  Tamil,  and  the  few  that  we  have  often 
cross  the  frontier  into  the  grown-up  people's  kingdom. 
The  Bible  stories  the  children  know  best  never  do. 
Then,  too,  the  book  is  new  to  most  of  them,  and  till 
they  know  it  thoroughly  other  books  can  wait.  So  it 
comes  to  pass  that  at  present  everything  shapes  that 
way.  Everything  is  coloured  by  some  Scriptural  reflec- 
tion— even  punishments,  as  I  found  only  yesterday  ;  for 
five  naughty  little  sinners  had  eaten  forbidden  berries, 
and  to  ward  off  possible  consequences  had  a  dose  of 
quinine  all  round  ;  which  quinine,  to  enforce  the  moral,  had 
to  be  slowly  munched.  Quinine,  dry,  is  not  dehcious. 
The  five  made  faces.  Then  the  ringleader  remarked : 
"  After    Adam    and    Eve     had     eaten     the     forbidden 


Was  the  Powder  Quinine?  275 

fruit  I  wonder  if  God  filled  it  with  powder  to  keep 
anybody  else  from  eating  it,  and  I  wonder  if  that  powder 
was  quinine  ?  " 

Among  the  larger  events  of  her  early  hfe  the  Elf 
reckons  a  sharp  attack  of  enteric.  "  My  typhoid/'  she 
calls  it,  with  unchallenged  sense  of  possession.  The 
weary  convalescence  was  brightened  by  a  doll  which 
opens  and  shuts  its  eyes.  For  some  time  after  its 
arrival  and  dehghtful  laborious  unpacking,  the  Elf  way 
speechless.  By  the  time  she  recovered  voice  everyone 
was  busy,  so  she  addressed  the  treasure,  which  was 
propped  up  in  bed  beside  her :  "  Ah,  my  doll,  I  am 
going  to  love  you  very  much.  Oh,  I  do  love  you,  my 
dear  doll  " — sounds  of  kissing  followed — "  but  I  must 
not  want  to  keep  you  for  myself  entirely.  I  must  be 
willing  to  give  you  up.  I  must  not  listen  to  the  feehng 
in  my  inside  that  you  are  my  very  own.  But  you 
really  are  my  own  " — more  fervent  kissing — "  the 
Lady  of  the  hills  sent  you  to  me  to  be  my  very  own," 
the  relief  in  the  voice  was  unmistakable,  "  so  it  doesn't 
matter  what  that  feehng  says.  .  .  .  But  I  must  not 
be  Hke  Haman.  He  wanted  all  good  things  to  come 
only  to  him,  so  he  got  a  great  disappointment." 

Here  I  lost  the  thread  of  the  discourse  which,  I  think, 
must  have  got  into  knots,  and  perhaps  Haman's  fate 
proved  depressing,  for  the  sermon  closed  abruptly  with, 
"  Now  I  must  not  be  at  all  hke  that.  .  .  .  But,  ah,  my 
doll,  you  are  my  doll !  .  .  .  But  I  will  give  you  to  my 
younger  sisters  when  I  die  !  " 

One  feels  inchned  to  leave  you  with  no  more  serious 
view  of  the  children  than  their  playground  shows,  but 


276  Green  Clouds  and  Lamps 

they  are  too  dear  to  be  left  like  that.  They  are  not 
children  in  a  picture  just  to  be  looked  at,  or  children  in 
a  story  sure  to  end  happily.  They  are  living  children, 
with  more  than  merely  childish  faults.  Each  who  was, 
or  whose  parents  were,  connected  with  Temple  service 
as  the  word  is  understood  here,  is  possessed  of  an 
inheritance  unexplored  as  yet,  but  close  at  hand. 
Sometimes  it  is  as  if  the  Power  to  whom  the  child 
had  been  dedicated,  suddenly  fastened  upon  her,  drew 
her  over  the  dividing  fence  into  that  inheritance,  worked 
upon  her  will  till  she  wills  to  be  there,  reasserted  its 
claim  in  fact,  very  really.  These  children  come  from 
"  dim  uttermost  depths  which  no  Angel  hath  known," 
nor  any  Englishwoman,  save  those  who  go  out  with  the 
Shepherd  to  seek  the  sheep  that  is  most  of  all  lost ;  and 
even  they  have  not  plumbed  the  abyss  that  opens  under 
Satan's  throne.  There  is  a  difference  between  those  who 
ever  were  in  that  abyss  and  those  who  never  were  ;  and 
the  grace  and  the  victory  wrought  by  our  God,  and  the 
light  when  it  illuminates  are  all  the  more  to  the  praise 
of  His  glory  and  all  the  more  a  joy.  But  we  ask 
you  not  to  forget  the  background,  and  the  possibihty  it 
holds. 

One  of  Christina  Rossetti's  poems  expresses  so  tenderly 
and  so  completely  much  that  we  desire  for  these  little 
Temple  children,  that  one  cannot  do  better  for  them 
than  copy  it  here.  Just  the  few  who  are  with  us  can 
pray  the  prayer  for  themselves,  but  the  many  not  found 
yet  need  you  to  put  yourself  down  quite  low  beside 
them,  and  pray  the  little  prayer  for  them,  as  mothers  do 
for  babies  too  small  to  say  the  words  : 


"Find,  Embrace  us"  277 

"  O  Lord,  seek  us,  O  Lord,  find  us  t 

In  Thy  patient  care  ; 
Be  Thy  Love  before,  behind  us, 

Round  us  everywhere  : 
Lest  the  god  of  this  world  bhnd  us. 

Lest  he  speak  us  fair. 
Lest  he  forge  a  chain  to  bind  us, 

Lest  he  bait  a  snare. 
Turn  not  from  us,  call  to  mind  us, 

Find,  embrace  us,  hear ; 
Be  Thy  Love  before,  behind  us, 

Round  us  everywhere." 

And  to  this  will  you  add  an  earnest  word,  that  each 
one  saved  may  grow  up  to  be  a  saviour  of  others,  a 
blessing  to  India. 


If  the  Lord  pull,  5^011  must  not  hold  when  He  draweth." 

Samuel  Rutherford. 


{The  sick  haby  to  its  mother.) 
'  0  Mother,  mother  !  loose  thy  prayer, 
Christ's  name  hath  made  it  strong. 
It  bindeth  me,  it  holdeth  me 
With  its  most  loving  cruelty, 
From  floating  my  new  soul  along 
The  happy  heavenly  air. 
It  bindeth  me,  it  holdeth  me 
In  all  this  dark,  upon  this  dull 
Low  earth,  by  only  weepers  trod. 
It  bindeth  me,  it  holdeth  me  ! 
Mine  Angel  looketh  sorrowful 
Upon  the  face  of  God.' 

Oh  you 
Earth's  tender  and  impassioned  few. 
Take  courage  to  entrust  your  love 
To  Him  so  named.  Who  guards  above 
Its  ends,  and  shall  fulfil  ! 
Breaking  the  narrow  prayers  that  may 
Befit  our  narrow  hearts,  away 
In  His  broad  loving  will." 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 
From  "  Isobel's  Child." 


278 


CHAPTEE   XXXIV 
Loosed 

NEARLY  a  year  has  passed  since  most  of   the  fore- 
going   chapters    were    written.     Now    the    three 
babies  who  made  the  nursery  such  a  busy  place 
have  left  us,  for  what  the  children  call  "  Jesus'  upstairs 
nursery." 

The  two  who  went  first,  swept  off  by  the  first  touch  of 
a  cold-weather  epidemic,  were  so  delicate  that  they  could 
never  have  been  as  other  children  are.  Little  Amethyst 
never  grew  except  in  gladness,  and  the  Sunflower  seemed 
to  wither  as  she  grew.  But  we  took  such  care  of  them 
that  we  thought  in  our  ignorance  death  could  not  find  a 
way  in  to  reach  them.  Little  Amethyst,  our  first  Temple 
baby,  went  first.  It  was  night.  I  had  carried  her  out 
into  the  courtyard,  as  if  relief  from  the  clutch  of  the 
pain  could  be  won  for  her  outside.  The  light  little  body 
lay  still  in  my  arms,  warm  and  breathing,  but  so  still 
after  the  first  sudden  pain  had  passed,  that  I  did  not 
know  the  moment  when  she  left  me,  did  not  know  her 
gone  till  I  looked  down,  and  the  moonlight  showed  so 
white  on  the  empty  Httle  face.  Then  in  that  first 
moment  a  sudden  doubt  swept  over,  like  a  cold,  cold 
wave — has  never  a  mother  known  it  ? — Where  has  she 

279 


280  Loosed 

gone,  my  baby  ?  Is  it  true  she  lives  somewhere  ?  Or  is 
it  all  a  myth,  a  dream  ?     Is  she  nowhere,  nothing,  dead  ? 

Next  morning  very  early,  a  happy  voice  surprised  me. 
I  was  not  expecting  happy  voices,  for  this  first  break  in 
our  family  had  meant  more  to  us  all  than  some  will 
understand.  "  Amma  !  have  you  seen  it  ?  Her  verse 
comes  in  the  reading !  "  It  was  Star,  her  face  bright 
with  the  discovery  that  the  Scripture  Union  portion  held 
our  baby's  verse  that  day  :  "  And  the  foundations  of  the 
city  were  garnished  with  precious  stones  .  .  .  The  twelfth 
an  Amethyst.''^ 

As  we  carried  her  that  same  morning  to  her  little 
grave  as  if  to  her  cot,  the  village  people  gathered  to 
look  at  her  ;  but  they  would  hardly  believe  her  dead,  the 
little  lips  were  so  red  and  sweet,  just  curving  in  a  smile. 
And  we  knew  with  an  assurance  beyond  the  reach  of 
doubt,  that  the  baby  was  not  really  dead  but  only  lifted 
over  to  the  sunny  side  of  life.  Safe,  safe,  alive  and  well, 
with  Him  that  liveth  and  was  dead,  and  is  ahve  for  ever- 
more. This,  the  first  little  Temple  child,  so  far  as  is 
known,  ever  laid  to  rest  as  a  Christian  child,  was  sown 
as  a  seed  that  morning  in  sure  and  certain  hope  of  the 
Resurrection  to  eternal  life,  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 

The  Sunflower  was  lying  between  life  and  death  when 
we  carried  our  Amethyst  babe  to  her  grave.  For  a  week 
longer,  day  and  night  we  toiled  to  save  that  little  life, 
but  it  passed  from  us  and  we  felt  bereft ;  and  the  only 
one  left,  our  treasure  child,  became  trebly  a  treasure  to 
us  all,  and  we  held  her  tight,  so  tight,  in  our  arms,  as  if 
our  poor  weak  human  arms  could  hold  her  when  the  word 
had  come,  "  Loose  her  and  let  her  go." 


Unshadowed  281 

Up  till  the  month  of  that  fatal  sickness  she  had  been 
a  perfectly  healthy  child,  a  bit  of  loveliness  and  joy, 
whole  and  dear,  from  the  hand  of  God.  On  the  last 
unshadowed  day  before  the  epidemic  came,  we  made  a 
feast  in  the  new  room.  The  children  sat  in  rows  on  the 
floor,  gay  as  a  garden  of  hving  flowers.  "  Indraneela  ! 
Indraneela  !  "  they  kept  calhng  from  side  to  side  and 
end  to  end,  and  the  baby  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands, 
and  tried  to  walk  to  everyone  who  called  ;  the  pretty 
little  dancing  feet  were  never  a  moment  still.  Every- 
thing seemed  bright  that  day,  for  the  delicate  babes  were 
fairly  well,  and  all  the  children  were  good  and  well ;  and 
the  treasure  babe,  who  was  always  well,  was  fuller  than 
ever  of  joyousness.  The  sweet  little  ways  of  a  babe 
beloved,  untroubled  by  any  hurting  thing,  seemed  sweeter 
than  ever  that  happy  day,  as  we  played  all  together,  and 
all  with  her,  and  she  held  out  her  arms  to  one  and 
another,  and  leaped  and  laughed  and  tried  to  talk,  the 
merriest  of  us  all.  Then  when  the  feast  was  over  we 
went  into  the  courtyard,  and  the  baby  clapped  her  Httle 
hands  as  the  wind  stirred  the  leaves  of  the  tuHp  tree, 
and  blew  its  flowers  down  upon  her  ;  and  the  children 
made  a  Httle  crown,  and  crowned  their  baby  queen.  One 
sees  it  all  so  distinctly  to-day :  the  gleeful  children,  the 
little  child  with  brown  eyes  shining  with  excitement  and 
delight,  the  little  crown  of  pink  blossoms  on  the  fluffy 
dark  hair. 

Only  a  fortnight  later,  but  it  seemed  as  if  years  had 
passed  since  that  bright  evening,  Indraneela  lay  too 
quietly  upon  my  mother's  knee.  The  baby  loved  her 
Atah  (baby  word  for  grandmother),   who  had  come  to 


282  Loosed 

stay  with  us  for  a  year,  and  was  nowhere  more  contented 
than  on  her  Atah's  knee.  That  evening,  as  she  lay 
watching  everything  we  did,  she  almost  seemed  to  under- 
stand, and  to  be  trying  to  help  us,  so  wise  were  all  her 
little  ways.  Then  when  the  sound  of  the  children 
singing  on  their  way  home  from  school  reached  us  in 
the  nursery,  she  raised  her  hands  as  she  always  did  at 
the  sound  of  singing,  and  tried  to  clap.  These  httle 
signs  of  intelligence  helped  to  blind  us  to  what  was 
coming.     And  we  went  on  hoping — ^hoping  against  hope. 

So  it  was  as  if  she  tried  to  tell  us.  Six  of  the 
children  were  ill  in  another  room.  We  divided  the 
nursing ;  Star  and  I  shared  the  early  morning  with 
the  babe.  Just  before  dawn  she  called,  and,  holding 
her  little  hand  as  high  as  she  could  reach,  she  pointed 
up.  Then  she  pointed  to  a  toy  musical-box  which  we 
always  kept  beside  her,  and  when  it  was  given  to  her 
she  turned  the  handle  till  the  first  notes  came.  She 
had  often  tried  before,  but  never  quite  succeeded  in 
turning  the  handle  herself.  Now  she  stopped  and 
looked  up  with  those  joyous  eyes,  so  unlike  a  baby's 
eyes  in  steadfastness  of  expression  : 

"  Let  me  to  my  heaven  go  ! 
A  little  harp  me  waits  thereby, 
A  harp  whose  strings  are  golden  all. 
And  tuned  to  music  spherical, 
Hanging  on  the  green  life  tree 
Where  no  willows  ever  be. 
Shall  I  misa  that  harp  of  mine  ?  " 

She  held  out  her  little  hands  to  be  kissed,  and  then,  tired, 
fell  asleep.  .  .  . 

"  She  was  not  an  Earth-child,"  said  the  kindly  village 


''We  would  give  Him  mis''  283 

women  as  they  came  and  looked  at  lier,  "  we  always 
said  so.  She  was  beautiful  beyond  our  common  children. 
She  was  a  little  Heaven-child  who  came  down  here  to 
stay  for  awhile.     And  now  she  has  gone  to  her  own  place." 

She  was  the  child  of  an  ancient  royal  race  ;  every 
dainty  way  and  pretty  imperious  gesture  showed  it. 
There  was  something  very  noble  about  the  little  child  : 
she  was  our  best.  The  children  were  not  prepared  for 
what  had  happened.  We  led  them  to  the  courtyard 
garden  where  they  had  crowned  her  queen.  It  opens 
off  the  nursery  where  she  lay  asleep,  the  little  head 
half-turned  upon  the  pillow,  the  little  hands  curled 
softly  as  in  hfe.  The  children  looked  at  the  flowers — 
poor,  sick  nasturtiums  which  do  not  flourish  here  ;  blue 
convolvulus  bells,  hanging  all  over  the  treUis  ;  and  one 
single  hly,  the  first  we  had  ever  had,  which  had  blos- 
somed that  same  morning.  "  If  Jesus  came  to  our 
garden  to-day,  what  flower  should  we  give  to  Him  ? 
A  poor,  little,  sick  nasturtium  which  we  do  not  want 
at  all  ?  or  a  pretty  blue  convolvulus  which  we  would 
not  miss  very  much  ?  "  But  the  children  ran  to  the 
lily  :  "  We  would  give  Him  this,'^''  they  said.  Over  and 
over  it  came  to  us,  "  We  would  give  Him  this  :  we  would 
give  Him  this''  Thou  art  worthy,  0  Lord  Jesus,  to 
receive  this,  our  Best. 

The  doubt  that  had  chilled  one's  heart  before  had  not 
dared  to  come  again.  It  was  a  dart  from  the  enemy. 
"  The  twelfth  an  Amethyst "  had  come  between,  hke  a 
shield  made  of  a  jewel.  But  even  as  Indraneela  passed, 
the  memory  of  that  simple  consolation  came  to  us,  and 
that  afternoon  this  happened  : 


284  Loosed 

That  while  I  was  resting  in  my  room,  trying  to  gather 
strength  for  the  parting  with  the  cherished  httle  form 
that  must  be  made  before  sunset,  I  listened,  hardly 
listening,  to  Mr.  Walker  teaching  his  convert  boys  on 
the  verandah.  They  were  reading  aloud  :  "  And  Aaron 
shall  bear  their  names  before  the  Lord  upon  his  two 
shoulders  for  a  memorial."  Verses  followed  about  the 
chain  of  pure  gold,  the  -vvreathen  work,  the  breastplate 
with  its  settings  of  stones,  even  four  rows  of  stones  : 
"  The  second  row  shall  be  an  emerald,  a  Sapphire.^'' 
Safe,  safe  for  evermore,  set  on  His  breast,  close  to  His 
heart.  His  Sapphire. 


CHAPTER   XXXV 
Persist 

"  So  look  up,  friends  !     You  Avho  indeed 

Have  possessed  in  your  house  a  sweet  piece 
Of  the  Heaven  which  men  strive  for,  must  need 
Be  more  earnest  than  others  are, — speed 

Where  they  loiter,  persist  where  they  cease." 

WE  could  not  have  uncovered  so  personal,  and,  after 
all,  so  common  a  hurt,  had  we  not  been  pressed 
by  the  hope  that  the  story  of  the  loosing  of 
these  little  lives  might  loose  some  prayers.  Will  not 
some  who  read  entreat  with  a  new  intensity  for  the  life 
of  these  innocent  children,  devoted  in  their  infancy  to  the 
service  of  the  gods  ?  Most  of  us  have  little  loved  ones 
with  Jesus.  We  '^  must  need  be  more  earnest  than 
others  are,  speed  where  they  loiter,  persist  where  they 
cease."  So,  at  least,  it  seemed  to  us  after  the  numbness 
of  grief  had  passed,  and  we  could  think  again. 

At  first  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  never  pass — as  if 
comfort  could  never  come.  We  just  wanted  Indraneela, 
nothing  else.  One  day,  some  quaint  words  from  old 
Samuel  Rutherford  came  with  such  healing  in  them, 
that  because  there  are  so  many  sorrowful  people  in  the 
world,  and  perhaps  some  sorrowful  one  may  read  this, 
I  copy  them  : 

285 


286  Persist 

"  You  have  lost  a  child  :  nay,  she  is  not  lost  to  you 
who  is  found  to  Christ ;  she  is  not  sent  away,  but  only 
sent  before,  like  unto  a  star,  which,  going  out  of  our  sight, 
doth  not  die  or  vanish,  but  shine th  in  another  hemisphere. 
You  see  her  not,  yet  she  doth  shine  in  another  country. 
If  her  glass  was  but  a  short  hour,  what  she  wanteth  of 
time  that  she  hath  gotten  of  eternity  ;  and  you  have  to 
rejoice  that  you  have  now  sonic  treasure  laid  up  in 
Heaven.  .  .  .  There  ib-  less  of  you  out  of  Heaven  that 
the  child  is  there. ^^  We  never  understood  before  how 
true  in  its  simplicity  is  the  familiar  verse  :  "  Where  your 
treasure  is,  there  wall  your  heart  be  also." 

Another  word  that  had  comfort  in  it  was  Golden's. 
We  were  walking  home  together  after  church.  Golden  was 
speaking  of  little  Lotus,  who  had  been  with  my  mother 
during  the  service  :  "  You  had  not  sore  longing  for  her," 
she  said,  "  although  she  was  not  with  you."  "  Was  it 
not  different  ?  "  I  answered,  for  the  moment  not  seeing 
her  thought :  "  I  knew  I  should  have  her  again  as  soon 
as  the  service  was  over."  "  Will  you  not  have  Indra- 
neela  again  as  soon  as  the  service  is  over  ?  " 

Sometimes  a  word  lights  up  a  truth.     There  had  not 

been    sohd  comfort   in    the    view    so    often  taken    of   a 

treasure  lent  reclaimed. 

"  Think  what  a  present  thou  to  God  hast  sent, 
And  render  Him  -udth  patience  what  He  lent," 

Milton's  beautiful  Hnes  to  a  mother  "  On  the  death  of  a 
fair  infant,"  had  soothing  in  them,  and  yet  there  was 
somehow  the  inconsequence  of  an  uncompleted  thought. 
It  was  joy  to  have  anything  so  dear  to  send ;    but  had 

she  been  only  le^it  ? 


"Give  her  the  Glory  of  uoing  on"     287 

"  He  lends  not,  but  gives  to  the  end 
As  He  loves  to  the  end.     If  it  seem 
That  He  draws  back  a  gift,  comprehend 
'Tis  to  add  to  it  rather,  amend, 
And  finish  it  up  to  your  dream." 

There  is  heart's-ease  in  the  knowledge  that  the  gifts  of 
our  God  are  without  repentance — irrevocable.  Often  since 
then,  when  we  have  found  ourselves  picturing  what  she 
would  have  been  by  now,  if  we  had  been  allowed  to  keep 
her  here — such  a  bonnie  little  girl,  just  learning  to  talk 
— and  winced  with  the  sharp  pain  of  it,  we  have  pulled 
up,  remembering  how  much  sweeter  than  our  picturing 
she  must  be  there,  where  the  Hands  that  fashioned  her 
so  perfectly  at  first  have  their  way  with  her,  un- 
hindered by  any  touch  of  ours  or  any  influence  of  earth. 
"  'Tis  to  add  to  it  rather,  amend,  and  finish  it  up  to  your 
dream  "  ;  the  words  mean  much  if  they  mean  anything. 
And  the  gift  will  be  all  the  dearer  for  such  keeping 
until  the  service  is  over. 

When  we  went  back  to  the  empty  nm'sery,  and  folded 
up  the  baby's  little  things  and  put  them  away,  we  felt 
as  if  we  could  not  begin  all  over  again.  But  we  were 
shown  that  what  we  had  been  through  was  only  meant 
to  make  us  the  more  earnestly  Persist.  So  we  set  apart 
the  sixth  of  each  month,  the  date  of  our  little  Indra- 
neela's  passing,  as  a  Prayer  day  for  the  Temple  children, 
that  they  may  be  found  and  redeemed  from  Temple 
service  ;  and  for  ourselves  that  we  may  love  them  accord- 
ing to  the  love  of  the  Lord.  Sometimes  in  far-away 
places,  upon  that  very  day  God  has  signally  worked  for 
the  dehveiance  of  a  Httle  one  in  danger,  and  always 
He  has  met  us  and  renewed  our  strength.      We  have 


288  Persist 

never  had  another  Indraneela,  but  our  empty  nursery 
has  been  filled  to  overflowing.  "  Impossible  "  things  have 
been  done.  Children  dedicated  in  suchwise  that  deliver- 
ance seemed,  as  the  Tamil  says,  "  out  of  hand's  reach," 
are  safely  with  us  now.  When  such  things  happen  we 
know  Whose  hand  has  worked. 

Of  late  months  a  most  helpful  development  has  been 
effected  through  the  comradeship  of  the  medical  mis- 
sionaries at  Neyoor.  We  have  a  branch  nursery  there 
now,  with  Ponammal  (Golden)  in  charge  of  five  nurses, 
and  an  absorbing  family  of  the  tiniest  of  our  babies.  The 
relief  of  knowing  that,  should  they  need  it,  all  the  help 
that  skill  and  kindness  can  command  will  be  given  to 
those  babies  is  something  that  perhaps  only  a  mother 
who  has  known  the  anxiety  of  a  large  little  family  far 
away  from  reliable  help  will  understand.  We  have  no 
words  to  thank  the  medical  missionaries  and  their  Indian 
fellow-workers,  whose  kindness  has  no  limits. 

Another  year  lies  between  the  last  chapter  and  this. 
For  we  can  only  write  in  odd  corners  of  time,  and  some- 
times time  does  not  seem  to  have  any  odd  corners. 
Quiet  is  even  rarer.  Just  now  I  am  sharing  a  room 
with  seven  very  young  people — the  middle-aged  babies 
we  call  them^ — and  the  only  possible  quiet  is  when 
they  all  elect  to  go  to  sleep  together,  a  happiness 
not  granted  every  day.  The  year  that  has  passed  since 
Indraneela  left  us  has  held  some  rainy  days.  But 
perhaps  the  little  seed  of  the  Temple  children's  work 
must  be  watered  much  before  it  will  spring  and  grow. 
Perhaps,  if  we  only  knew  it,  all  sheaves  have  such  rain 
at  the  root.     But  to-day,  as  I  look  up  from  the  writing 


The  Joy  of  Sheaves  289 

to  the  dear  little  seven  so  kindly  all  asleep,  and  then 
through  the  western  window  with  its  glorious  mountain 
view,  to  the  other  nursery  where  the  older  little  ones  are 
settUng  down  to  their  midday  rice  and  curry,  and  when 
I  stop  to  remember  just  where  each  might  have  been 
to-day  if  things  had  been  otherwise,  then  I  feel  no 
watering  could  be  too  costly,  if  only  in  the  end  there 
may  be  the  joy  of  sheaves. 

The  joy  of  sheaves — we  have  had  it  already  ;  and 
when  the  time  comes  to  tell  the  South  Indian  Temple 
children's  story  in  full,  if  God  will,  we  will  share  it  with 
you.  The  story  is  a  story  by  itself.  Before  it  can  be 
told  there  must  be  much  laborious  digging  in  places  out 
of  sight.  So  we  do  not  attempt  more  now  than  these 
few  simple  nursery  chapters,  written  for  the  comfort 
of  those,  known  and  unknown,  who  are  praying  that 
something  may  be  done.  And  there  is  larger  comfort 
to  oiler  :  India  is  so  great  a  word  that  in  writing  we 
confine  ourselves  on  purpose  to  the  South,  but  we  rejoice 
to  remember  that  elsewhere  there  are  those  whose  eyes 
are  open  to  look  for  these  Httle  children,  and  to  work 
for  them  and  save  them.  Soon  we  trust  our  dream  will 
be  fulfilled,  and  each  Province  where  the  need  is  found 
to  exist  will  have  its  own  nursery,  and  its  own  band 
of  volunteer  Indian  searchers. 

For,  in  the  South  at  least,  the  actual  work  of  dis- 
covering the  children  must  be  done  by  the  Indian 
workers.  Most  emphatically,  no  one  else  can  do  it. 
Our  part  is  to  inspire  others,  to  hope  through  all  dis- 
couragement, to  do  the  detail  work  behind  the  scenes, 
and  to  pray,  and  set  all  who  have  hearts  to  whom  the 
19 


290  Persist 

helplessness  of  a  little  child  carries  its  own  appeal, 
praying  as  they  have  never  prayed  for  the  life  of  these 
young  children.  Our  great  need  then,  is  wise  and 
earnest  Indian  fellow-workers.  One  by  one  those  upon 
whom  we  can  depend  are  being  given  to  us,  and  now  in 
many  Temple  towns  and  villages  we  have  friends  on  the 
watch  for  little  ones  in  danger.  One  of  the  Overweights 
of  Joy  to-day  is  the  knowledge  that  the  memory  of  our 
little  Indraneela  is  being  used  to  touch  hearts  to  more 
purposeful  effort,  and  a  love  that  will  not  give  in.  One,  a 
pastor's  wife  who  lately  helped  in  the  salvation  of  a  little 
child,  writes  :  "I  never  knew  how  very  difl&cult  it  would 
be  to  save  these  children  until  I  began  to  try.  Then  I 
despaired.  I  found  Satan  at  every  point.  I  nearly  gave 
up  hope.  I  began  to  think  it  has  gone  on  so  long — 
this  traffic — it  will  go  on  to  the  end.  Who  can  stop  it  ? 
What  can  we  do  ?  But  then  the  remembrance  of  little 
Indraneela,  and  a  letter  I  read  about  her,  came  to  me, 
and  revived  my  determination,  for  it  made  my  whole 
heart  tender  for  these  little  ones.  And  I  could  not 
bear  to  think  they  must  go  on  perishing." 

God  make  our  hearts  tender,  and  revive  our  deter- 
mination, and  give  it  to  us  to  care  so  that  we  shall  not 
be  able  to  bear  that  the  children  go  on  perishing.  And 
though  for  many  of  us  hereafter  the  laughter  of  life  must 
have  tears  at  its  heart,  God  give  it  to  us  to  Persist. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 
The  Song  of  the  Lord 

OUR  story  is  told  :  how  inadequately  told  no  critic 
will  see  more  clearly  than  the  writer,  who  has 
stopped  many  times,  wishing  some  one  else  would 
finish.  If  we  have  shown  things  truly  we  have  shown  a 
battlefield.  A  hand  has  been  lifted  up  against  the  throne 
of  the  Lord.  We  look  to  you,  our  comrades,  to  lift  up 
other  hands.  "  Explain  the  philosophy  of  prayer,"  write 
some  in  answer  to  our  reiterated  petition,  Pray.  How  can 
we  ?  Who  can  ?  We  only  know  that  "  it  came  to  pass 
when  Moses  held  up  his  hand  that  Israel  prevailed.  And 
his  hands  were  steady  until  the  going  down  of  the  sun." 

The  Gloriosa  superha  is  native  to  South  India. 
During  the  autumn  rains  you  find  it  shooting  in  the 
lane  bordered  thickly  by  huge  cactus  and  aloe.  Here 
and  there  you  see  it  in  the  open  field.  In  the  field  it 
will  have  a  chance,  you  think  ;  but  in  the  lane,  crowded 
down  by  cactus  and  aloe,  great  strong  assertive  things 
with  most  fierce  thorn  and  spike,  what  can  a  poor  hly  do 
but  give  in  and  disappear  ?  A  few  weeks  afterwards 
you  see  a  patch  of  colour  on  the  field,  you  go  and  gather 
handfuls  of  lovely  HUes,  and  you  revel  in  the  tangle  of 
colour,  a  little  bewilderment  of  delight.      But  the  lane, 


292  The  Song  of  the  Lord 

go  to  the  lane.  There  you  see  something  far  more  satis- 
fying, not  only  entangled  colour,  but  all  the  grace  of 
form,  God's  full  thought  grown  to  perfection.  Eight  feet 
up  in  the  clear  air,  bright  against  the  luminous  blue,  un- 
furling its  fire-flowers  like  banners  of  triumph,  there  is 
the  lily  victorious.  Each  little  delicate  bud  and  leaf 
seems  as  if  filled  with  a  separate  keen  little  joy  :  the  joy 
of  just  being  beautiful  and  free. 

The  Gloriosa  will  exist  in  the  field,  as  it  will  exist  in 
the  English  hothouse,  because  it  must.  But  it  is  not 
happy  there.  There  is  no  proper  development.  Give  it 
life,  not  just  existence.  Give  it  something  to  conquer. 
Give  it  the  thorn  and  the  spike. 

Sometimes  it  may  seem  to  us  that  our  prayer-life 
would  develop  more  easily  under  easier  conditions.  The 
open  field  with  no  obstacle  near — there  the  lily  will 
surely  thrive.  Look  at  the  plant  again.  In  itself  it  is 
very  fragile,  but  each  leaf  tapers  tendril-wise,  and  asks 
for  something,  however  sharp,  if  only  it  may  curl  round 
it  and  climb.  The  cactus  and  the  aloe  are  not  hind- 
rances. The  straight  smooth  stick  stuck  into  the  pot 
in  the  hothouse  will  doubtless  serve  the  same  purpose. 
But  something  is  lost.  There  is  not  the  charm  that 
springs  from  the  sense  of  fine  contrast.  The  easy  and 
the  ordinary  carries  no  exhilaration. 

God's  flowers  grow  best  in  places  where  only  an 
angel  would  have  thought  of  planting  them.  Not  pot- 
bound,  tidily,  properly  trained,  is  the  lily  at  its  fairest. 
It  wants  to  be  where  wild  rough  things  crowd  it  round 
with  ruthless  feet.  It  will  not  shrink  back  at  fear  of 
their  trample.     It  will  touch  them  lightly,  and  laugh  the 


The  Battle  is  not  mimic  War         293 

while,  and  at  its  touch  the  cactus  and  aloe  show  the  pur- 
pose hidden  within  them.  Ruthless  feet  are  helping 
hands,  Hfting  the  hly  up  into  the  Hght.  Perhaps  if  we 
could  shut  our  eyes  on  the  world's  way  of  looking  at 
things,  and  go  to  sleep  with  our  head  on  a  stone,  we 
should  see  all  the  obstructing,  all  the  impossible,  changed 
as  it  were  to  a  ladder  beside  us,  set  on  the  earth,  the 
top  reaching  heaven. 

We  need  the  flower's  brave  faith  and  dauntless  resolu- 
tion when  we  set  ourselves  to  pray.  The  battle  is  not 
mimic  war.  The  evolution,  intrigue,  impact,  are  most 
tremendous  realities.  And  yet,  looking  not  at  some 
little  picked  regiment,  but  widely  over  the  army  of  God, 
does  it  not  appear  that  a  spirit  foreign  to  the  soldier  has 
now  infected  us,  and  so  dealt  with  us  that  what  the  first 
soldier-missionary  meant  by  conflict,  whether  in  service 
or  prayer,  is  something  we  hardly  understand,  and  the 
battle-cries  of  God's  elder  warriors  sound  harshly  in  our 
ears  ?  Is  there  not  something  lacking  in  nerve,  and  sinew, 
and  muscle,  and  bone  ?  Do  we  not  see  some  things 
through  a  mist  and  a  glamour,  knowing  not,  yea  refusing 
to  know  it — for  that  spirit  has  dulled  our  soul's  vision 
and  obscured  it — that  it  is  but  a  mist  and  a  glamour  ? 
If  we  give  that  influence  its  way  we  shall  find  before 
long  that  the  foe  behind  the  trenches  looks  Hke  a  friend 
in  an  interesting  disguise.  And  the  sword  in  our  hand 
will  shimmer  away,  like  a  sword-blade  in  a  fairy  tale  and 
the  soldier- spirit  will  vanish  : 

"Braver  souls  for  truth  may  bleed; 
Ask  us  not  of  noble  deed  ! 

Small  our  share  in  Christ's  redemption — 
From  His  war  we  claim  exemption. 


294  The  Song  of  the  Lord 

Not  for  us  the  cup  was  drained; 

Not  for  us  the  crown  of  thorn 

On  His  bleeding  brow  was  borne : 
Not  for  us  the  spear  was  stained 

With  the  blood  from  out  His  side  ; 

Not  for  us  the  Crucified 
Let  His  hands  and  feet  be  torn  ! 

On  the  hst  we  come  but  low : 
Not  for  us  the  cross  was  taken, 
Us  no  bugle  call  can  waken 

To  the  combat,  soldier  fashion." 

We  would  not  say  it.  We  consider  it  bad  taste.  But 
do  we  never  live  it  ?  Consider  :  let  us  view  ourselves  in 
the  light  of  that  most  awful  Sacrifice.  Do  we  believe  in 
Calvary  ?  What  difference  does  it  make  that  we  beheve  ? 
How  does  this  behef  affect  the  spending  of  our  one  posses- 
sion— life  ?  Are  we  playing  it  away  ?  Does  it  strike  us 
as  fanatical  to  do  anything  more  serious  ?  Are  we  too 
refined  to  be  in  earnest  ?  Too  pohte  to  be  strenuous  ? 
Too  loose  in  our  hold  upon  eternal  verities  to  feel  with 
real  intensity  ?  Too  cool  to  burn  ?  God  open  our  eyes, 
and  touch  our  hearts,  and  break  us  down  with  the 
thought  of  the  Love  that  redeemed  us,  and  a  sight  of 
souls  as  He  sees  them,  and  of  ourselves  as  we  are,  and 
not  as  people  suppose  we  are,  lest  we  sail  in  some 
pleasure  boat  of  our  own  devising  over  the  gliding  waters 
that  glide  to  the  river  of  death. 

Ruskin  once  made  a  remark  for  which  he  was  counted 
mad  :  "I  cannot  paint,  nor  read,  nor  look  at  minerals, 
nor  do  anything  else  that  I  Hke,  and  the  very  Hght  of 
the  morning  sky  has  become  hateful  to  me,  because  of 
the  misery  that  I  know  of,  and  see  signs  of  where  I  know 
it  not,  which  no  imagination  can  interpret  too  bitterly. 


Something  stronger  than  Sympathy     295 

Therefore  I  will  endure  it  no  longer  quietly  ;  but  hence- 
forward, with  any  few  or  many  who  will  help,  do  my 
poor  best  to  abate  this  misery."  And  again  came  scath- 
ing words,  almost  forgotten  now  :  "  You  might  sooner  get 
lightning  out  of  incense  smoke  than  true  action  or  passion 
out  of  your  modern  EngHsh  religion." 

We  have  seldom  touched  on  the  deeper  misery  we 
know  of  and  see  signs  of,  because  there  are  some  notes 
which  cannot  bear  to  be  struck  twice  :  and  because  not 
pity,  but  obedience,  is  the  staying  force.  We  would 
not  draw  one  to  come  by  the  slight  thread  of  pity,  or 
by  the  other,  still  more  slender,  sentimental  love.  The 
refrain  of  some  sweet  hymn,  the  touching  description  of 
sorrowful  eyes,  and  a  wistfulness  inexpressible — these 
things  have  voices  which  call,  but  the  power  that  holds 
is  not  in  them.  Those  of  us  who  have  come  to  Moslem 
or  heathen  lands  for  hfe,  if  God  will,  know  that  what 
keeps  us  here  is  something  stronger  than  sympathy. 
And  yet,  though  we  would  not  sound  our  strongest  call 
through  it,  misery,  which  no  imagination  can  interpret 
too  bitterly,  looks  at  us  everywhere,  and  through  every- 
thing, with  its  mute  appeal.  There  is  ultimately  only 
one  sure  way  to  abate  it.  Are  we  showing  the  people 
this  one  sure  way  ? 

One  of  our  older  children  lay  very  ill,  unconscious. 
In  the  morning,  the  crisis  past,  she  said  to  me  quietly  : 
"  Last  night  I  thought  I  was  going  to  Heaven,  and  I  was 
so  glad  to  go.  But  I  was  suddenly  sorry.  I  thought 
all  the  angels  would  look  at  me,  and  there  would  be 
tears  in  their  eyes,  because  I  had  loved  our  Lord  Jesus 
so  long,  and  I  had  not  brought  one  to  Him."     "  So  long  " 


296  The  Song  of  the  Lord 

meant  then  a  year  and  nine  months,  and  she  had,  though 
she  did  not  know  it,  brought  at  least  one  to  Him. 
Would  the  angels  look  at  us  "  with  tears  "  if  we  went 
Home  to-night  ? 

Would  they  look  at  us  "  with  tears  "  because  of  our 
disobedience  to  our  Master's  clear  command  ?  I 
would  not  for  a  moment  forget  the  work  at  home 
with  its  immeasurable  needs ;  but  writing  as  I  do 
from  the  darkness,  to  those  who  are  in  what  is,  at  least 
by  comparison,  light,  can  I  help  pleading  for  more 
light-bearers  ?  What  is  it  that  keeps  so  many  from 
coming  ?  Is  it  fear  that  ties  the  feet  ?  Need  there  be 
any  fear  in  a  coming  unto  Jesus  ?  "  Lord,  if  it  be  Thou  " 
— if  this  drawing  that  I  feel  in  my  very  heart  be 
Thou — "  bid  me  come  unto  Thee  on  the  water.  And  He 
said.  Come.  .  .  .  And  he  walked  on  the  water  to  go  to 
Jesus."  And  afterwards,  always  afterwards,  it  is  just 
going  on  walking  with  Jesus. 

Is  the  cord  made  of  something  far  more  powerful 
than  fear  ?  Is  it  human  affection  that  holds  us  back  ? 
Then  something  is  wrong  which  must  be  put  right, 
if  our  Lord  is  not  to  miss  us  from  the  place  where  He 
means  us  to  be.  Oh  that  the  cords  that  bind  us,  be 
they  strong  as  the  seven  green  withes  that  were  never 
dried,  may  be  as  a  thread  of  tow  when  it  toucheth  the 
fire,  shrivelled  in  a  moment  and  forever  by  the  pure  fire 
of  that  other  Love  that  hath  a  most  vehement  flame  ! 

Are  we  in  utter  earnest  ?  Are  we  quiet  enough  to 
listen  to  the  "  sound  of  gentle  stillness  "  which  is  the  Voice 
of  God  ?  Do  we  see  One  coming  toward  us  now,  thorn- 
crowned,  pierced,  stricken,  with  a  face  "  so  marred,  more 


When  the  Burnt-Offering  began       297 

than  any  man  "  ?  Does  He  stoop  and  take  the  cord  in 
His  hand,  and  look  up  with  a  question  in  His  eyes  ? 
Do  we  say,  "  0  Lord,  it  cannot  be  ;  it  would  hurt  too 
much  to  be  borne  !  Not  my  own  hurt,  Thou  knowest, 
Lord  :  it  is  their  hurt  that  is  holding  me  ;  I  cannot  ask 
them  to  let  me  go  !  "  Does  He  turn  His  hand  a  little 
then,  and  show  the  print  of  the  nail  ? 

These  words  are  not  written  lightly.  They  are 
not  froth  words.  They  rise  slowly,  burning  their  way 
out.  This  parting  is  a  bitter  thing,  bitter  as  death  itself 
to  some.  We  hve  again  through  a  long-passed  hour, 
feel  again  the  twilight  about  us,  only  the  white  of  the 
snow  outside  makes  a  light  in  the  little  room.  And  the 
cold  of  the  snow  is  upon  us,  and  yet  we  are  hot,  and 
the  snow  flakes  are  lava  flakes  falling.  And  through  the 
dimness  and  the  coldness  and  the  fire  comes  the  Word  as 
it  came  then  :  "  Go  ye  .  .  .  Go  ye."  But  not  only  that  one 
word  :  promise  upon  promise  comes  for  those  who  must 
be  asked  to  let  go  ;  till  looking  up  steadfastly  we  see 
the  glory  of  God,  and  Jesus. 

Oh,  more  than  an  Overweight  of  Joy  is  theirs  who 
give  to  the  Giving  One.  Mothers  and  fathers  who  have 
given,  do  you  not  say  so  ?  For  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor 
ear  heard,  neither  have  entered  into  the  heart  of  man, 
the  things  which  God  hath  prepared  for  them  that  love 
Him  well  enough  to  pour  out  their  treasure  before  Him. 
We  fear  to  cause  our  dear  ones  pain.  Should  we  not 
rather  fear  lest  we  hold  them  back  from  joy  ?  It  was 
when  the  Burnt -offering  began  that  the  Song  of  the 
Lord  began  also. 

In  teaching  the  converts  once,  we  were  struck  by  the 


298  The  Song  of  the  Lord 

way  in  which  the  Song  of  the  Lord  is  ever  undertoned 
by  pain.  The  Lamb  was  slain  in  the  Father's  heart  from 
the  foundation  of  the  world,  and  He  looks  upon  the 
daughter  of  Zion,  brought  out  of  her  captivity,  redeemed 
with  the  precious  blood,  and  sings  :  "He  will  rejoice 
over  thee  with  joy.  He  will  joy  over  thee  with  singing." 
The  Shepherd  seeks  the  wandering  sheep,  and  suffers  in 
the  search  ;  and  then  comes  the  song  :  "  Rejoice  with 
Me,  for  I  have  found  My  sheep  which  was  lost."  And 
the  only  time  we  read  of  the  Holy  Spirit's  joy  is  when 
He  speaks  of  the  converts  won  "  in  much  affliction." 
Would  there  ever  have  been  this  Joy  of  God  had  there 
been  no  sacrifice  ?  Can  we  hold  our  dear  ones  back 
from  singing  their  part  in  the  Song  ?  Can  we  hold 
back  ourselves  ?  Would  it  not  be  joy  worth  any  cost  if 
we  could  add  even  a  bar,  even  a  note,  to  the  glorious 
Song  of  the  Lord  ! 

"  Joy  is  not  gush  :  joy  is  not  jolliness."  The  words 
were  spoken  recently  by  one  shortly  afterwards  called 
to  live  out  his  own  words.  "  Joy  is  simply  perfect 
acquiescence  in  God's  will,  because  the  soul  delights 
itself  in  God  Himself.  Christ  took  God  as  His  God 
and  Father,  and  that  brought  Him  at  last  to  say,  '  I 
dehght  to  do  Thy  will,'  though  the  cup  was  the  cross,  in 
such  agony  as  no  man  knew.  It  cost  Him  blood.  It 
cost  Him  blood  .  .  .  Oh,  take  the  Fatherhood  of  God 
in  the  blessed  Son  the  Saviour,  and  by  the  Holy  Ghost 
rejoice,  rejoice,  rejoice  in  the  will  of  God,  and  in  nothing 
else.  Bow  down  your  heads  and  your  hearts  before 
God,  and  let  the  will,  the  blessed  will  of  God,  be  done." 

"  Thy  kingdom  come  ;    Thy  will  be  done,"     We  pray 


He  shall  bear  the  Glory  299 

it  over  every  day.     God  means  us  to  help  to  answer  our 

own  prayers.     "  He  shall  bear  the  glory,"  we  read,"  and 

shall  sit  and  rule  upon  His  throne.     And  they  that  are 

afar  off  shall  come  and  build  in  the  temple  of  the  Lord." 

The  vision  closes  with  the  words  :    "  And  this  shall  come 

to  pass,  if  ye  will  diligently  obey  the  voice  of  the  Lord 

your  God."      What  if  Time,  as  we  look  back  upon  it 

from  "  the  land  of  far  distances,"  will  seem  but  a  little 

hollow  scooped  out  on  the    plain    of    Eternity,  for  the 

building  work  to  be  done  ?     And  what  if  somewhere  in 

the  temple  wall  there  is  something  still  unfinished  which 

we  were  meant  to  do,  and  would  be  doing  now  if  we 

were  diligently  obeying  the  voice  of  the  Lord  our  God  ? 

Some  may  read  this  who   seem  debarred  from  taking 

their  share  in  the  building  work.     Their  walk  is  through 

the  "  common  days  and  level  stretches  white  with  dust." 

There  seems  no  outlet  possible  for  the  pent-up  love  and 

the  longing  : 

"  Lo  amid  the  press, 
The  whirl  and  hum  and  pressure  of  my  day, 
I  hear  Thy  garments  sweep  :  Thy  seamless  dress ; 
And  close  beside  my  work  and  weariness 
Discern  Thy  gracious  form." 

One  so  near  as  to  be  discernible  will  speak  in  words 
that  can  be  understood,  and  tell  the  one  who  loves  Him, 
how,  even  so,  there  is  a  way  to  build. 

And  some  may  read  for  whom  four  walls  shut  out  all 
the  busy  world.     There  was  one  such  who  wrote  : 

"  Down  the  lone  pass  of  pain  I  found 
Christ  came,  and  made  it  holy  ground." 

Down  the  lone  pass  of  pain  he  walked,  and  it  led  to  a 


300  The  Song  of  the  Lord 

room  where  no  door  ever  opened  to  the  outer  world 
again.  But  something  passed  through  the  walls  of  that 
room,  and  out  and  away  beyond  all  space,  and  the 
coming  of  the  Kingdom  is  the  nearer  to-day  for  what 
happened  in  that  room. 

But  others  will  read  who  know  as  they  read  that  the 
call  has  come  to  rise  and  go  to  the  further  part  of  the 
hollow.  Oh,  let  us  be  in  earnest !  Life  is  not  play. 
There  are  playful  moments  in  it,  but  taken  as  a  whole  it 
is  an  av/ful  thing — this  one  brief  life.  Do  not  let  us 
play  away  such  an  opportunity.  Master,  if  it  be 
Thou,  bid  me  come  unto  Thee  upon  the  water  .  .  . 
Lord,  I  come. 

And  now,  not  in  a  clear  and  open  atmosphere,  but 
through  the  murk  and  the  mist  and  the  darkness  "  We 
praise  Thee,  0  God,  we  acknowledge  Thee  to  be  the  Lord. 
Thy  name  shall  endure  for  ever.  Thy  name  shall  be 
continued  as  long  as  the  sun  :  and  men  shall  be  blessed 
in  Thee  :  all  nations  shall  call  Thee  blessed.  Blessed 
be  the  Lord  God,  the  God  of  Israel,  who  only  doeth 
wondrous  things.  And  blessed  be  His  glorious  name  : 
and  let  the  whole  earth  be  filled  with  His  glory  ;  Amen 
and  Amen." 


MORGAN   AND   SCOTT   LTD.,    LONDON. 


DATE  DUE 


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Et, 


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JTED  IN  US 


BW7455  .C287 

Overweights  of  joy ... 

Princeton  Theological  Semmary-Speer  Library 


1    1012  00039  8166 


:n»j 


